


The Fox Guards the Wolf

by FeelingFredly



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Romance, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: Why would an assassin need a bodyguard?  Well, it seems to keep the body count down, and Tessai is tired of trying to control Kisuke’s…  exuberance.Why would Ichigo accept the role?  Well...  why not?





	1. Invading the Fox's Den

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, spawned from a _very _late arrival to the Bleachverse. I've been posting on Tumblr, but am hoping it'll be easier for readers to keep track of here.__
> 
> I do not own Bleach, or profit from any use of its characters.
> 
> _  
> _Thanks for reading!__  
> 

  _Nii-sama? Are you coming home for dinner?_

Ichigo glanced at the phone when it pinged and groaned. Yuzu had the worst timing. He’d just managed to get the dialogue between his two main characters going after struggling for an hour. He glanced at the clock. Or two. But who’s counting.

_Sorry Yuzu, not tonight. I’ll grab something while I’m out. Thanks, though._

Six o’clock. He rubbed his forehead. If he stuck with it he could get in another hour’s writing before heading to the dojo to spar with Chad and Uryū. After fighting with his characters all day it would be a relief to fight something he could actually hit.

He’d been at it for three weeks. Get up, get dressed, head to the coffee shop on the corner and stare at the screen for six hours before heading back to help at the Karakura Clinic. If he was lucky the Muse would strike and he’d type like a madman and have to drag himself away from the keyboard when it was time to go, but more often than not he sat there scowling at the screen and drowning his frustrations in caffeine while trying not to type “All work and no play makes Ichigo a dull boy.” Maybe this really was a terrible idea. Isshin certainly thought so, but it had been a long time since he’d let his dad make decisions for him. Plus, what did a retired cop know? Taking a year before applying to medical school wasn’t _that_ uncommon, and his time working in the clinic would answer any questions the admissions people had about why he’d taken the time off. Practical experience always looked good on a resume. They didn’t need to know that he spent the rest of his waking hours writing, hoping against hope that the thrilling stories that constantly swam around in his head would find an audience, and maybe more importantly, a publisher.

Ichigo rolled his shoulders and looked around. The shop was busy, several regulars scattered in chairs around the tables, but the table next to him had been empty until a few minutes ago. Even deep in dialogue-land he didn’t lose that much awareness. Isshin would be happy about that, at least. A single father made a widower too young, he was paranoid and protective of his children in the way only a cop could be, hammering self-defense skills and situational awareness into all three of them. Ichigo was fast, strong, and a quick learner, with a vicious streak when it came to protecting his little sisters and his friends. Isshin said he had a sixth sense for danger, and considering how many times Ichigo had found himself in the middle of trouble, he couldn’t really argue with his old man. It was like an itch between his shoulder blades, a niggling certainty that something was off. It was also why he was looking really hard at the new arrivals.

There were two men, late twenties, average in all ways, except… both were armed. That was different. Guns were heavily regulated. The Inagawa-kai ran several bakuto palaces in the area and the money men were likely to have access to some kind of firearm, but the runners and the muscle carried knives at most. Plus, Ichigo knew most of those guys. Hell, he’d fought most of those guys at one time or another over the years–one of the side benefits of walking around looking like a Duracell battery. But, these men had guns and open collars and there was no ink visible anywhere, so, whatever they were up to, it wasn’t at the Kumichō’s direction. That was good. Crossing the Kumichō was bad for your health. Any future doctor could respect that.

The problem was, if they weren’t Yakuza… what were they?

Ichigo pulled his backpack onto the table and watched the two from under his eyelashes as he packed up. Their shoes were too expensive for them to be cops, and one of them was wearing something that smelled a LOT like Tom Ford’s _Fucking Fabulous_. If Ichigo hadn’t been sure they were there to cause trouble he might have stayed around a little longer just to bask in the smell. It reminded him of a few very good evenings he’d had with a visiting English professor whose wicked mouth would quote Shakespeare one minute and then follow up with the longest, most toe-curling blowjobs ever.

He dragged out his packing, occasionally looking over the other customers, but never taking his focus off the men next to him. He’d almost written off the itch as over-active imagination, but then Tom Ford was wiggling his fingers in some form of handtalk, and his companion perked up like a hunting dog about to be released.

_Shit. He hated being right._

He scanned the room again. There was only one possibility. A tall, nicely built man was standing at the register paying for some ridiculous whipped cream topped monstrosity with a foot long straw sticking out of the top. He looked ready for a day enjoying the Tokyo summer, wearing a green cotton yukata and bucket hat, and carrying his bag and a cane. He was smiling at the cashier like he didn’t have a care in the world, oblivious to whatever danger had sought him out, but the watchers had positioned themselves between the counter and the door, ready to follow _someone_ , and considering the tension radiating from them, it was happening sooner rather than later. No one else was moving; no one else was even in line. It had to be him.

It took Ichigo two seconds to decide. _Fuck it. Let’s go._ He slung his bag over his shoulder and stood quickly, trying to calculate what to do next.

“You finally decided to show up, hmmm?” Ichigo pushed past the table for two making sure to throw Tom Ford a little extra hip motion. It never hurt to unbalance an opponent. “I waited over there,” he pointed to his little corner spot, “for _two hours_ , and now, when you know we’re supposed to meet everyone in less than twenty minutes, you appear. Poof. Like a genie from a bottle.” He cocked his head to one side and looked the stranger up and down, trying to gauge his response. He hoped wasn’t going to get punched for this performance. “I hope you’re not expecting me to rub your bottle tonight, Anata. You’ll be sadly disappointed.”

The blond—was he really blond?—finished paying for his heart attack in a cup and turned slowly, eyes traveling up and then back down Ichigo’s body. He took a long pull on the straw and swallowed, and Ichigo couldn’t help but admire the way the long muscles along the side of his throat moved. Another time, and another place, that would have been worth another look or three, but sexy had to take a backseat to safety this time.

“I am so sorry!” Grey eyes scanned his face before he bowed briefly, and Ichigo held his breath, but there was no explosion. “Please forgive me. I got caught up in,” the corner of the stranger’s mouth quirked as he met Ichigo’s gaze, “one of my projects, and just lost track of time. You know how forgetful I can be.”

The man’s tone was soothing and almost affectionate, and if Ichigo hadn’t known better, he’d say he was being laughed at. Regardless, he prayed that Mr. Forgetful was as quick on his feet as he seemed. The two thugs behind him had started to move, but had stopped when the scene started playing out. He could only hope that anyone who strove to be so carefully _ordinary_ would want to remain as invisible as possible, and stay as far out of the spotlight as they could.

Ichigo walked forward confidently and gestured towards the door. “Are you ready to meet with Ishida-san and Yasutora-san? You know, after you cancelled last week, I’m afraid they might _shoot and ask questions later_ if you don’t show up this time.”

Ichigo raised both eyebrows and jerked his head at the men behind him, trying to convey that there was more to what was going on than just some random _baka_ hitting on a stranger in a coffeehouse, and was pleased to see a flash of understanding cross the stranger’s face. Maybe they’d get out of this in one piece after all.

“Of course.” The man reached into his bag and pulled out a phone big enough to watch television on. “Tsukabishi-san,” he said after a moment, “could you drive around to the front of the store and pick us up.” He smiled at Ichigo. It was all teeth and it sat oddly on the handsome face. “I’m afraid I’ve done it again, and I won’t have time for that leisurely walk after all.”

He slipped the phone back into his bag without turning it off, and Ichigo nodded. Not an idiot then. He wasn’t just going to let some crazy redhead lead him by the nose into who knows what without his GPS on or his phone recording. Good. Plus, he had a car and driver. Maybe he had enough money that he was worth kidnapping. Who knew? A driver and a car, though, would be better than running if they had to try to get away from the not-Yakuza. The man had a cane and was wearing fucking _geta_. No one could run in geta.

“How is Tsukabishi-san?” The question felt weird, but Ichigo needed to keep up the illusion as long as possible. “Is he still trying to keep you out of trouble?”

Eyebrows disappeared under the edge of the bucket hat, and the grey eyes grew a tiny bit wider before that little smirk reappeared, and he chuckled. “Oh, he tries. Fails, usually, but tries. I am the bane of his existence.”

They were almost at the door before the two men committed to following. That gave them at least three seconds of space. Ichigo could work with that. He leaned in a little closer, and looked up at the taller man next to him, trying to look coquettish. He probably looked like he had something in his eye.

“I’m glad,” he said. “There are all kinds of dangerous people around. They might even _have guns_!”

“Surely not.” The voice that answered was calm and soothing as he held the door open. “You shouldn’t worry about me, though. I can take care of myself.”

 _Sure you can_. Ichigo thought a little frustratedly. The not-Yakuza were still following, and the car was nowhere in sight.

Two steps out the door and his new companion turned sharply to the left, placing the glass door between him and the followers. Ichigo spun neatly on his toe and cut back as well, leaving plenty of maneuvering room in case things got ugly.

With Ichigo things often got ugly. It wasn’t his fault, though. Really. He didn’t know why people never believed that.

“And there is Tsukabishi-san.”

A black car pulled up at the curb and parked, ignoring the traffic signs, and a large man in glasses climbed out.

The two thugs looked at each other, and Ichigo knew they’d made the decision that it was now or never. In a swirl of fists and feet they tried to force their quarry back towards the front of the coffee shop, putting more distance between them and the street, but they made the mistake of focusing on the older man and ignoring _him_. The man in green neatly blocked two kicks before swinging his cane sharply, catching one assailant on the ear, and knocking him to the ground where blood immediately began to pool under his head. Then, before the second could jump on him, Ichigo dropped his bag and took aim. He neatly pivoted, swinging his leg in a high round kick, and knocked the man to the ground next to his friend, where a second kick to his chin knocked him flat on his ass, wondering what the hell happened.

When Ichigo turned back, the tall man was holding the gun that he’d liberated from the first thug, and he waggled a long, slender finger at the second, who was threatening to rise to make another attempt. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, voice disconcertingly mild. “I mean, go ahead if you want to. If you really, _really_ want to… but I will say, I am not very happy with you and your companion. You’ve interrupted my evening walk, and caused me to spill my lovely drink. You’ve truly tried my patience, and I’m not the most patient of men at the best of times.”

He bent over and stage whispered. “This is not the best of times.”

Thug #2 swallowed visibly and paled, butt-walking backwards, away from the geta-wearing man with a gun.

The driver appeared and held out one enormous hand in the universal signal for _hand it over_ , and slowly the second man pulled a gun from his jacket and did just that.

“Excellent, excellent.” Tsukabishi stepped back and evaluated the scene before addressing Ichigo’s stranger. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner Urahara-san.”

Urahara. Something about that name rang a bell, but Ichigo couldn’t place it. It didn’t matter. He’d figure it out later.

First: priorities. He dropped to his knees by the bleeding man and checked his pulse and his pupils, thankful that both seemed within the parameters of normal for someone who’d just been whacked with a stick. There was no clear sign of fracture, and while there was a lot of blood, it seemed to be coming from a fleshy tear behind the ear. He slid his bag closer and rummaged through the inside pockets, pulling out a roll of sport tape and a t-shirt he’d brought to wear while sparring. Two minutes later the thug was wearing the latest fashion in bandagewear—ugly, but effective enough to keep him from losing too much blood before he could get to a real doctor.

Both beaten men were staring at him by then, and Ichigo couldn’t help the flush that colored his cheekbones. So what if he’d been part of the beat down. He wasn’t just going to let the guy bleed out.

“Tsukabishi-san,” the mild voice was gone, and in its place was a warmer, friendlier version. “Come meet my daring defender.” He offered a calloused hand and pulled the redhead to his feet, although he ended up standing a little closer than was strictly necessary. That close Ichigo had to look up to see the stranger’s face, and at that angle the hat didn’t cover the curiosity shining in those grey eyes. “I’d like to meet you myself, actually.”

He smiled then, a real smile, and something lurched in Ichigo’s chest.

He stepped back and brushed his clothes off, glancing between the men still sitting on the sidewalk at gunpoint, the man in green, and the towering driver. It looked like a scene from a terrible anime.

“Kurosaki Ichigo.” He introduced himself with a tight bow. “Sorry about the theatrics in there. I’d noticed these guys watching you, and when I realized they had guns. Well…” He spread his hands out and shrugged a little, letting the statement hang in the air. “I’m just glad everything worked out okay.”

Urahara leaned a little on his cane, never dropping the barrel of the gun from where he held it on his attackers. “Oh, I don’t know. I found the theatrics quite entertaining. The hip shot was particularly well executed, if I do say so.”

Ichigo felt his flush darken and tried not to scowl. He knew he’d looked ridiculous, he didn’t need his nose rubbed in it.

“Do you want me to call the cops?” He asked, pulling out his phone. “My dad retired from the force a couple of years ago, but I know most of the officers that patrol this area. I could explain what happened…”

Urahara cut him off. “Thank you Kurosaki-san, but that won’t be necessary. My associate has already contacted some people I work for about this little _altercation_ , and they are on their way now to pick up the pieces, you might say?”

Grey eyes met brown and held. Tsukabishi had taken charge of both weapons and gotten the prisoners to their feet. He pulled several industrial sized zip strips from an inner pocket and secured their wrists before herding them into the backseat of the car. Ichigo looked away. Whatever was going on was definitely higher than his pay grade. It was fascinating, efficient, and professional, but he’d be better off staying as clear as possible.

“I cannot thank you enough for your timely intervention, Kurosaki-san.” The older man had a strange look on his face. Like he’d seen something he’d never seen before and wasn’t sure exactly what to make of it. “It is not every day that someone puts themselves in danger to protect a total stranger. It is… surprising. And very appreciated.”

Ichigo swallowed around the lump that appeared in his throat, and mentally cursed the flush he could feel crawling up his neck and over his cheeks again. What was it about this man? It had been years since he’d gotten flustered this easily.

“Well, you looked like you’d probably have been okay even if I hadn’t stepped in, but two against one, especially when the two are armed, are bad odds. I just wanted to make things a little more fair.” He hitched his bag a little higher and straightened his shoulders. “Next time maybe they’ll think twice before causing trouble.”

The blond nodded and adjusted his hat, hiding his eyes in the shadow of its brim before heading for the car. “I’m certain they will.”

He stood there for moment and waved a salute before opening the door.

“See you around, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

Somehow, it sounded like a promise.


	2. Rats and Snakes

 

Faint shadows striped the floor, pink tinged from the neon moonlight of the Tokyo night, and Okura Kagetaka’s shoulders relaxed as he crossed the threshold to his private sanctuary. 

It had been a good day. His sensei would have been proud. Now all he wanted was a bath and sleep.

He was halfway to his dressing room, pulling at his tie, when his phone rang. It was business. 

It was always business. 

 “Shachō- no-Okura.”

There was a pause on the line and Kagetaka frowned at being made to wait.

“Okura-dono,” the man finally spoke. “Chiaki Haru speaking. I apologize for bothering you, especially so late, but you indicated that you wanted updates concerning the situation with Urahara Kisuke-san as soon as we heard anything.”

The frown faded. Progress. Good.

“ _Hai_.”

He could hear papers rustling in the background. “As you directed, Suzuki Touma-san and Kondo Sora-san were dispatched this afternoon with orders to bring Urahara Kisuke-san, willingly or not, to the research facility. The driver followed them after drop off and they made two stops, one at the convenience store east of Yoyogi Park, and from there they traveled straight to a coffee shop near Tokai University Hospital.”

Kagetaka nodded. It made sense. Shibuya was Urahara’s style. Crowds and chaos. Easy to hide in. Easy to hunt in. 

“And Urahara-san?”

“As they stated, they were in possession of reliable information on his location. Ten minutes after entering the coffee shop, they left again following Urahara Kisuke-san. Their information, though, apparently did not extend to his companion. They were,” the man on the phone sounded strangled, “summarily disarmed and bundled into a car under guard. We don’t know where they were taken, as of yet.”

Kagetaka felt his stomach tighten. 

“Companion? You mean Tsukabishi Tessai-san?”

Another pause. “No, Shachō. Tsukabishi-san was driving the car which took the men away, but there was another with Urahara-san in the café. It was a younger man with bright orange hair. He disarmed Suzuki-san while Urahara-san faced Kondo-san. He then reportedly gave medical attention to Kondo-san before allowing them to be removed from the scene. We are currently trying to identify him.”

Of course Kondo would need medical attention. Urahara was no fool. An attacker that could rejoin a fight would be a wasted first move. The fact that Suzuki _didn’t_ need medical attention was the surprise.

“Did the unknown man leave the scene with the others?”

“No, Shachō. He left on foot after the others drove away.”

“Where did he go?”

Yet another extended pause. Unacceptable. Kagetaka needed to remind his people that his time was not to be wasted.

“I am sorry, Shachō. He was not followed. Since his orders were to track Urahara Kisuke-san, the driver chose to follow him instead of his companion. By the time he called in, the companion had disappeared.”

Kagetaka gritted his teeth.

“Does this mean that Urahara has been brought to the research facility as directed?”

He knew the answer. If he’d been taken, the idiot on the phone would have led with that information. Since he didn’t, failure was a given. 

“No, Shachō. Again I apologize. The driver lost his target after he? crossed into Shinjuku. He has been… _reprimanded_.”

The Yakuza used to take fingers for failures, weakening their sword grips and making its members more dependent on their teammates. Too much of it had turned it into common knowledge, and it became too easy for the police to use it to identify their members. Reprimands within the Okura keiretsu were less visible, but just as permanent. 

The driver would not be failing him again.

He took a deep breath. Kondo and Suzuki being taken had been part of the plan. Urahara was infinitely more skilled than they were, regardless of what kind of firepower they were carrying. The point had been to get them in his sights, and in that the mission had succeeded. The fact that they were not actually _his_ men was a bonus. Mamushi-san had rolled the dice when he embedded spies in the Okura organization. Kagetaka’d given them a chance at a valuable target. If they weren’t able to fulfill their orders, no one could question their disappearance, and there would be no suspicion to fall on him.

Tracking Urahara had been a higher priority, but success was still not expected. The fact that there was a new player on the scene was a much more disturbing development. _That_ mystery would have to be solved and quickly. If Urahara-sensei had taken another under his wing after all this time, then the game had changed drastically.

“Shachō?” 

Kagetaka shook himself from his reverie and peeled off his jacket before throwing it into the laundry. He would arrange for two teams to set up surveillance of the coffee shop tomorrow, but it needed to be handled discreetly. He didn’t want another of Mamushi’s men to figure out how important the redhead might be.

“Yes. That will be all Chiaki-san. Please keep me informed if anything new comes to light.”

“Yes, Shachō. Good night.”

Kagetaka disconnected and plugged the phone in to charge on the shelf in his dressing area. Everything was in motion. Now he had to be patient. 

Urahara Kisuke would pay for his lack of foresight. 

It had taken him nearly a decade to build the keiretsu after Urahara turned him away. The bodies he had buried in the process were the very foundation of its strength. The fear he’d instilled in the hearts of his opponents was necessary for its continuing success. Power equaled respect both on the street and in the boardroom, and he had no romantic ideals concerning the right and wrong of it.

Unlike his sensei. 

He reached in to pull two towels off the shelf, and noticed a flicker of movement before a burning sensation erupted on the back of his hand. A snake.

A _mamushi_.

“Ah, Okura-kun, I see you found my companion.”

_ Urahara _ . How?

Kagetaka dropped the towels and took a step back, his mind racing. “ _Konbanwa_ , Urahara-sensei.” He stepped away from the shelf where the snake had been hidden and backed into the bedroom. “I didn’t realize you were visiting this evening. I apologize for the rudeness of your reception. If I’d been able to prepare, I would have given you the recognition you deserve.”

A shadow separated itself from the wall in the corner, and moved silently into the dim slashes of light from the windows.

“You are too kind, Okura-kun. I haven’t been your teacher for years.” The shadow stopped moving. “I know how busy you are these days. I would never want you to put yourself out on my account. I hate to be a bother.”

_ You’d hate for someone to be prepared for you, old man. _

Kagetaka moved to the table beside the bed and picked up a discarded hair tie. He’d never make it to his phone, and he hadn’t been able to see where the snake ended up. He’d just have to hope there were no other surprises hidden in the room and wait Urahara out. He slipped the tie around his wrist and pulled it tight.

“You are never a bother, Urahara-sensei, and we both know you never stopped teaching me. Why even now, I’m certain you have a lesson in mind.”

Urahara took one more step into the room, and a band of light fell on his face. He looked the same, shaggy blond hair, gray eyes, and a foolish smile that hid a razor-sharp intellect.

“You honor me, Okura-kun.” A mocking little bow. “A humble servant like myself could only _hope_ to be able to provide wisdom to the head of the impressive Okura keiretsu.”

His hand burned. The snake had bitten his little finger and he could feel it beginning to swell.

“Oh my,” Urahara tilted his head and looked at the injury. “That isn’t good. You should probably get it looked at. It seems the mamushi doesn’t care for your attentions. Especially since he was simply minding his own business.” Urahara gave that little silly smile again, the one Kagetaka dreamed of smacking off his face, and shrugged but his voice held an edge. “I can sympathize. Sometimes one has to protect ones privacy, even when the attention comes from one as august as the head of the Okura keiretsu.”

Kagetaka was beginning to sweat, and little dots were obscuring his vision. He blinked rapidly to try to clear them, but no luck.

“It’s fascinating, don’t you think?” 

“What is?” Kagetaka asked. Urahara kept smiling. “Mamushi venom has so many different qualities. It can cause red blood cells to rupture. Trigger swelling. Necrolysis. It can even cause a victim to lose their vision.”

Urahara stepped a fraction closer.

“ _You_ would never lose your vision, though, would you Okura-kun. No. Once you set your sights on something, it would take something radical, maybe even life-threatening, to make you change your mind.”

Kagetaka laughed shortly, pulling the hair tie even tighter around his wrist. “Sounds to me like you’re describing yourself, Sensei. I’ve never known a more single-minded man.”

Pale hands spread in a gesture of acceptance. “I admit, I can be rather focused at times. It is both a blessing and a curse. I’m sure you understand.”

Kagetaka inclined his head a fraction. “I do.”

“I am a bit surprised at our cold-blooded acquaintance’s behavior, though.” The bland tone was back. “I thought he would be friendlier. I mean, since his master is a friend of yours.”

The burning was worse, but Kagetaka kept his voice even, his attention piqued.

“His master?”

“Of course, Okura-kun. I mean, I recently spoke to two who claimed to belong to you both, so I assumed you must have some sort of relationship. It is too bad, though, that none of Mamushi-san’s pets seem to recognize you as a friend.”

 “I do hope Mamushi-san doesn’t mind that I brought _this_ pet to you. You brought his other pets to me; it seemed only appropriate.”

Kagetaka’s eyes flew to his old master’s. He knew. The bastard knew.

“Plus, I knew you would be able to provide for him. The snake’s favorite is _rat_ , you know. And Tokyo is full of rats. Even in the nicest places.”

Embarrassment and anger made Kagetaka’s cheeks burn. Or maybe that was the snake bite, he couldn’t tell. 

Urahara was watching him closely. Probably timing the venom. Ever the scientist. Ever the bastard.

“I did learn one interesting thing from the two men you sent me,” he said brightly. “Did you know that the new treatment for mamushi bite includes something called _relaxation incisions_ to the affected body parts? It is terribly clever. They slice open seams along the skin to release tension from the swelling. That way the injured parts won’t rot and die from not getting enough blood, and it allows them to release the poison trapped in them. It means weeks of healing, but it’s better than dying from the inside out, don’t you think?”

Sensei had always told him he held grudges and anger too close to his heart, that they would poison him if he let them. Now the old fool was lecturing him again, even if his method had become more dramatic. 

“It really is too bad you’re right handed. Any treatment is going to seriously hamper your ability to hold things. Pens. Brushes. Swords. Guns.” There was a pregnant pause, and then an inane laugh. “It will wreak havoc on your golf game, as well. Maybe Mamushi-san will finally be able to challenge you and beat you fair and square. You know he thrives on competition. The country club will never be the same.”

_ Fool.  _ Kagetaka thought. He’d been such a fool. He shouldn’t have tried to play both ends against the middle. Urahara was a target that required his whole focus, and by trying to kill two birds with one stone, he had only opened himself up to twice the danger. Luckily, his sensei was still too sentimental. Otherwise he’d have been dead already.

Kagetaka swayed, struggling to keep himself upright.

“I apologize, Sensei, as enjoyable as it has been seeing you again, perhaps you will excuse me. It has been a long day, and I find that I still have a few things I must tend to before I can close the books for the day.”

“Of course, Okura-kun,” Urahara said, sketching a bow. “You do look a little worse for wear, if you don’t mind my saying so. You should really be more careful.”

There was a long pause, and his sensei finally showed his true face. Gray eyes stared coldly at him, even flatter than those of the snake in his dressing room, and Kagetaka swallowed thickly.

“ _Next time you won’t be so lucky_.”

The floor rushed up to greet him, and then there was darkness. In the distance he heard a phone dialing and a cheerful voice.

“Ah, hello Chiaki Haru-san. Your master has had a little accident. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to send the physician up to his quarters. The door is unlocked.”


	3. The Rooster and the Henhouse

The dojo was humming with activity, and Ichigo breathed in the familiar scents of sweat, leather mats, and incense, pulling his focus tightly in upon himself, and letting all of his stress melt away.

The first Saturday of every month was for officially refereed matches, and he’d faced three different opponents over the course of the morning, but none of them had beaten him so far. Now he had one more round, and he was done for the day.

He bowed to the referee, and then to his opponent, sending his best friend a challenging smirk.

“ _Hajime!_ ”  

The two were evenly matched.  They’d been training together for four years, but this was the first chance they’d had to face off against each other recently due to Renji’s crazy study schedule.  Not many of the students at the dojo had as much experience as they did, and it was nice to be able to stretch his skills without being afraid he was going to accidentally hurt someone.

Ichigo raised his hands and lunged, thrusting one leg out and hooking it behind Renji’s foot as he trapped their hands high between their chests.

Grappling was Renji’s bread and butter.  He was taller, and a little heavier, and if he could get a good grip Ichigo would be in trouble. Today Ichigo was faster, though, and getting a good foothold off the bat gave him all the edge he needed.  He twisted, pulling Renji’s body closer, and then threw him over with all his strength, slamming the taller man onto his back.

“ _Ippon! Soremade.”_ The referee’s voice cut through the background noise. Match over. Three for three.

The friends stood, faced each other, and bowed again.

“Shit, Kurosaki,” Renji said, once they cleared the mat, “You were really in the zone today. I haven’t seen you move that fast since Inoue-san tried to get you to eat her chocolate-wasabi onigiri.”  He laughed but Ichigo remembered that day. He had moved pretty fast.  With Inoue’s food you had to—it was run or die.  “Three ippons in a row! You could have at least given me a chance.  You had me on my back faster than a fūzoku.”

Ichigo shook his head and tried to ignore the trace of red the teasing brought to his face. Renji was shameless.  Luckily, he’d taught Ichigo to give as good as he got.

“Just didn’t want to tease you too much, Abarai.  I know how hot and bothered you get thinking about pinning me like that.  You’d never have been able to spar with a hard-on.”

As freshmen the two had met in the dojo.  Ichigo had taken judo lessons since he turned twelve, and had been expected to keep training by his father, but Renji used judo as an outlet for some of his less socially acceptable impulses. He loved the physicality of it, and said more than once that it was the only thing that kept him from getting kicked out of school. It had only taken a few weeks for the two sparring partners to become friends, and after that first semester they found an apartment close to their classes and moved in together.

They’d fought off and on that first year. Renji went out drinking every weekend and slept through half the undergraduate population—male _and_ female—and didn’t understand why Ichigo spent all his time studying. After a while, though, the newness of freedom wore off and he settled down into a more reasonable routine.  He had an ambitious streak that pushed him, and he strove to be the best in every class, but it never turned him into an asshole. He was still the charming, outgoing goofball he’d been from the beginning, and he only occasionally teased Ichigo about his volumes of Shakespeare by the bathtub, and the medical journals he left on the kitchen counter. 

His dad hadn’t been thrilled when he said he wanted to move off campus, but after a few meetings he and Renji had hit it off.  Both Renji’s parents had died when he was small and he’d been raised in foster care, and while Kurosaki Isshin would never admit it, the redhead had become almost a second son. When Renji had been accepted to law school, he was just as proud as he’d been of Ichigo’s MCAT scores, and he’d bragged about them to anyone who would listen.

Hopefully, he’d never realize what his _sons_ had gotten up to over the years. 

“You working at the clinic tonight?” Renji asked. “I didn’t check the schedule this morning.”

“Not tonight.” Ichigo said. “I swapped with Yamazaki-san, so he could attend his little sister’s graduation ceremony last week, so I have an unexpected evening off.”

“Hot date?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes.  “Only if you count my laptop.”

Renji snorted.  “Sadly, that might sound better if I knew you had a porn addiction, but no.  You’re going to find some dusty corner and commune with your _muse_ again aren’t you?”

They hit the lockers and Ichigo pulled his clothes out, focusing on getting dressed so he didn’t have to answer.

Renji was more supportive than most about his writing. He agreed that spending a year working on getting his novel finished and finding an agent was important, but he didn’t understand Ichigo’s choice to stop dating until he’d made a final decision about med school. For him, getting laid was a priority—like breathing—and he was convinced Ichigo was crazy to try to deny himself. 

It wasn’t like Ichigo had completely given up on sex.  He’d had a few dates where he’d ended up in someone’s bed, but they’d been one night with no strings attached, and he never ended up in the same bed twice.  There just wasn’t enough attraction with any of them to make it worth the effort.

“My _muse_ , as you put it, is better company than anyone I’ve been out with recently.” He tugged his shirt over his head and pulled it down. “Anyway, you know how I feel. Until I get things settled it isn’t fair to ask someone to put up with my shit.  Hell, _I_ don’t want to put up with my shit.”

Renji came around the corner, dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked, and Ichigo sighed.  It wasn’t fair. The man was hot as hell, with his chest tatted up, and his muscles rippling subtly under smooth skin. At one time Ichigo thought he’d found his perfect match, but it wasn’t meant to be. They’d slept together a few times, and the redhead was as enthusiastic a lover as he was a sparring partner, but there was something missing and they both knew it.  

“Don’t sell yourself short, man.” Long fingers made short work of his buttons. “There are lots of people out there who have less of an idea of what they’re doing with their lives than you.  You’ve got a job, you’re writing a novel, you’re smart, you’re good looking,” he looked down at him and grinned, “and you have the hottest roommate in the history of cohabitation.”

Renji cocked his head to one side, looked at something over Ichigo’s shoulder, and stage whispered.  “Someone’s taken notice at least.  Although he seems a little on the shy side.”

Ichigo turned to see what he was talking about.  “What? Who?” All he could see were a few other judo students.

Renji shook his head, and looked a little dismayed.  “Dude was _just_ standing by the door.  I noticed him watching the matches earlier.  Good looking guy.  I guess he saw me watching him, uh, watching, and ducked out.”

Ichigo slid his feet into his shoes and grabbed his bag, the weight of the laptop heavy as he slung it over his shoulder.  

“You sure he was watching me?” He looked at his friend. “Of the two of us, you’re the one who gathers groupies.”

Renji lost his smart-ass grin and shook his head.  “No way.  I gave him a good long look—you know I like the ones that look like they could do a little damage, and this guy looked like he could hold his own—but he didn’t notice me at all.  He was all about you.”

Ichigo felt his heart speed up a little.  “What did he look like?  Kind of tall?  Shoulders? Blond hair?”

Renji shook his head again, but looked questioningly down at him. “No.  Your height. Dark. Black hair, dark eyes, mid-twenties? Moved like a fighter.”

Sounded like another not-Yakuza, but this one had found _him_. Shit.

He shut his locker door a little too hard and tried to tamp down the disappointment he felt that it hadn’t been the geta wearing man from the day before. It wasn’t like there was any reason to expect to see him again. He hadn’t even told Ichigo his name.  

Even if he had said he’d see him again.

Renji stared at him a minute, and Ichigo could hear the wheels grinding away in his head as he put two and two together and as usual, ended up with five.  “What’s going on, Kurosaki? Are you in some kind of trouble? Is this blond you mentioned giving you grief?”

See? Five.

Still. While Renji could be as over-protective as Isshin, it was hard to mind. One of the things they’d first connected over was a hardcore desire to avoid the local gangs, and it was still a hot-button topic for his roommate. Renji had more than his share of run-ins with tough guys in the foster care system and he’d considered it his job to protect the kids who were weaker or smaller than him, whether it was from lousy foster parents, or predatory thugs looking to recruit cannon fodder for their turf wars.  For a lawyer, it was an excellent skill set. He could usually smell gang members a mile away, and it helped keep him out of trouble.  So, if this guy didn’t set off Renji’s sensors, maybe he wasn’t a bad guy.

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

“Something strange happened yesterday at Como’s.  I was getting ready to  head in for my shift at the clinic when these two guys showed up with neon signs over their heads screaming _We’re Bad Guys._ Before I knew it, I was running a little interference in the middle of some sort of throw-down.  No one got hurt.” He thought about that and changed it. “Well, one of the guys with guns got hurt, but he was kind of asking for it.”

Renji stopped dead in the middle of buckling his belt, his eyebrows halfway to his hairline.  “ _Guns?_ Why am I only hearing about this now?  Did you call your old man and tell him?”

This was _so_ not a conversation Ichigo wanted to be having. 

“I’m telling you now. I didn’t tell you yesterday because you were balls deep in the flavor of the week when I got home last night and I didn’t feel like ruining the mood.  And no, I didn’t call my dad because there was nothing he could have done about it.  He’s _retired_.  Anyway, the man who was at the center of the whole thing seemed to have everything well in hand. He was so smooth you’d think that sort of thing happened to him every day.”

Renji made a strangled noise.  “Competence _isn’t a good thing_ in these situations. You have to take this seriously. If you got in the middle of some turf war…”

Ichigo scrubbed his hand over his face. “It wasn’t like that. These guys were more like high-end kidnappers than gangbangers.”

Oddly enough, that didn’t improve things. Renji looked like he was going to have a stroke.  His face was almost as red as his hair.

“Kidnappers.” He glared. “Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds? And you didn’t let your dad, the retired _police lieutenant_ , know? What the fuck, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo ignored the questions and walked out into the dojo with Renji struggling along behind him, still trying to get his shoes on.

“You know how Goat-face gets.  The minute he heard he’d start freaking out and acting like I was fourteen and being brought home from getting my ass kicked, again. I’m twenty-three, Abarai. I have a black belt in judo and a brown belt in karate.  I can handle myself. I don’t need to run to my dad for help every time something happens.”

He didn’t mention that it would terrify his sisters, or that it would throw the entire Kurosaki household into turmoil, forcing his dad to relive the nightmare of his wife’s death.  His father had many skills.  Moving on wasn’t one of them.  

“ _Kurosaki-san_!”

The voice came from one of the younger instructors trying to flag him down as he headed for the exit.

“Someone left this for you at the desk.” Ichigo took the message with a respectful bow and murmured thanks, and continued out the door.

After the dojo the street was oddly quiet, the background buzz dropping to just faint traffic noise, and the two friends stopped and stood against the wall, looking down at the card in Ichigo’s hand.

It was a white card with a small red embossed inkan in the corner, the writing clean and precise, and it was clearly addressed to Kurosaki Ichigo.

“What’s that?” Renji asked, peering over his shoulder. “Love letter from a secret admirer? Maybe he was too shy to stay and ask you out in person. Or maybe it’s a ransom demand from your friendly neighborhood kidnappers. It’s even odds.”

Ichigo made a fed up sound. “Drop it, Abarai. Remember, I know where you sleep.”

Renji waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “As if I could forget. I keep my door open in case you ever want me to _comfort you_ after a bad dream.”

Ichigo stared at his friend. It was like living with an overgrown puppy with ADHD and a sex addiction. How the man managed to survive in law school was a mystery.

Maybe he fucked all his professors.  It would explain a lot.

“Who is Tsukabishi Tessai?” Renji asked, switching his focus back to the note and Ichigo groaned at the mental whiplash. Definitely ADHD. 

“I met him yesterday at the coffee house.”

Ichigo thought back and tried to remember all the details about the man that he could.  He was tall, even taller than Renji, with dark skin and tiny braids running along his scalp. The most powerful feeling Ichigo had been left with about him, though, was one of almost preternatural calm.  It was as if nothing short of a bomb going off could unsettle the man.  A good trait for someone faced with armed bad guys, he supposed.

“He was not one of the kidnappers I’m presuming?”

Ichigo sighed but didn’t feed the troll.

He re-read the note wondering if it was some sort of trick, but it hadn’t changed.  “No. He showed up after everything started to go to hell. He was driving, but he didn’t act like any chauffeur I’ve ever heard of.  Instead of freaking out over someone trying to grab his boss, or over the fact that we basically beat the crap out of two guys in the middle of the sidewalk, he just apologized for being late, took their guns and tossed the men into the back seat of his car.”

Renji looked like he wanted to start yelling again, but he restrained himself.  Barely.

“And this is… what? A thank you note? A threat? He wants to make sure you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell the authorities?”

Ichigo shook his head again, and gave up trying to make sense of it all, and handed the card over for Renji to read for himself.

“He’s offering me a job.”


	4. A Loyal Dog Still Has Teeth

Kisuke made a satisfied noise, and the frown lifted from his face.   _There_ was the problem.  Now, how to fix it.

“Urahara-san?”

Scrolling through miles of code wasn’t exciting, but Kisuke couldn’t stop the little rush he felt. If this worked then he’d have Yoruichi back up and running that much faster, and he always worked better with her help.

“Urahara-san?”

Now that he’d found the bug in the software,  tomorrow he could go back to working on the headpiece…

“ _Getaboshi!_ ”

Kisuke sat up straight and turned his chair to glare at the interloper in his private domain.  He hated that name. “Yes, Tessai-san?”

The larger man sighed and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You do realize that today’s meeting was the fourth call from the Director that you’ve been ‘indisposed’ for, yes?”

Kisuke pulled a fan from his sleeve and snapped it open.

“Surely not, Tessai-san,” he said.  The fan covered the bottom half of his face, but he didn’t bother to hid his smirk more than that.  Tessai knew him better than anyone. Pretending would insult him.

“Surely yes, Urahara-san. The fourth.”  The older man took two steps into the lab, propped one muscular buttock on the corner of an examination table and dropped a file on the surface beside him.  Kisuke wondered if he should tell his friend what he’d last used that table for.

No. Now probably wasn’t the best time.  

“The Director was most unhappy to hear that you’d been targeted.  Again.”

The white lotus fan waved back and forth slowly.  “Well, that is most genial of him.  Typically he’d be the first in line to purchase a ticket if it meant he could watch something unpleasant happen to me.”

Tessai didn’t argue the point; it was the truth.  The Director knew Kisuke was invaluable.  He also knew that he was the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever had the misfortune of handling.

“It isn’t like you to whine, Urahara-san.” The words held no heat, but Kisuke resented them anyway.

“I’m not whining,” the blond almost frowned.  “I just find the sympathy suspicious.”

At that, Tessai allowed himself a small smile of his own.

“Allow me to set your mind to rest.”  Long blunt fingers spread in an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t say that the Director was sympathetic.  I said he was _unhappy_.”

 _Ah. That sounds more like him_ , Kisuke thought.  The man was always unhappy about something.

“Kawasaki-sama was concerned that your position had been compromised.  He asked me to remind you that no part of your contract includes having him play janitor to your messes, and that the level of exposure generated by a street brawl undermined the whole purpose of a secret branch of the Onmisukido.”

Kisuke’s gray eyes narrowed. His contract included whatever he wanted it to include, and Kawasaki- _sama_ would be wise to remember that.  He knew where all the bodies were buried.  He’d buried most of them.

“Well, then, thank you Tessai-san for passing along such an important message.” He waved the fan even more slowly. “At least this time the janitorial equipment didn’t include body bags.”

Tessai’s eyes focused on him and there was an undeniable quirk to the corner of his mouth.

“Kawasaki-sama actually mentioned that, ah, aberration,” he said.  “He wondered if something was special about the two men you sent into his care, or if, perhaps, you were simply mellowing in your old age.”

Kisuke fanned a little faster.

“He knows exactly what the men are,” he said flatly. “Bait for a trap.  I explained all of that in my report.  I also explained that the balance between the local forces is still intact, no thanks to the Omni.”

Seeing Taka-kun had been unpleasant, but unavoidable. He’d known that his student was beyond his help for years.  Still, until now Kisuke’d left him alone to make his way. Had allowed him to use the skills he’d learned with the Omni. Had even hoped that Taka would be able to move on and find something worthy to do with them, but that had been a sentimental mistake. Sentiment had no place in Kisuke’s world. He would not make that mistake again.

Tessai gave him a sympathetic nod.  “Okura-san is recovering I assume?”

“Yes.” Kisuke didn’t bother dissembling.  Tessai had watched the deterioration of his relationship with his student in real time.“His lieutenant was quite receptive to my suggestion to call in the specialist from Iwakuni as soon as possible. Between that and the immediate treatment by their on-site medic, Okura-san should be out of the hospital in a few days. Recovery will require a few months of physical therapy.”

He didn’t mention that as predicted the specialist had sliced Taka’s hand open like a hunk of sashimi. His kenjutsu would never be the same, and neither would he. If his hatred for Kisuke and the Omni had been poisonous before, it would be overwhelming now.  At least he’d been able to use the interaction to stir up more trouble between Mamushi and Okura’s gang of uber-misfits.  No one would see the snakebite as anything but an offensive from the Yakuza boss.  It was his signature.  

Luckily, Kisuke was an excellent forger.

“That will be interesting.” Tessai was always diplomatic.

“Almost as interesting as your redheaded hero from the coffee shop.” _Or not._ Kisuke folded his fan and slipped it back into his sleeve.

“He was interesting.” Among other things. “But I wouldn’t call him my hero.”

Tessai raised one eyebrow.  “He certainly saved you.”

Kisuke made a noise in his throat.  “The kit was skilled enough, but you know I didn’t need assistance dealing with those two.”

Tessai shook his head.  “I didn’t mean he saved you from _them_.”

What was the man on about?  Sometimes Kisuke wondered which of them was the inscrutable mad genius.

“Then what did you mean?”

Tessai pulled a phone from some invisible pocket.

“Did you realize that Kurosaki Ichigo was the eldest child of Lieutentant Kurosaki Isshin?”

Kisuke pushed himself back in his chair, slouching lazily against the desk behind him.

“Kurosaki Isshin….” he hemmed and hawed for a moment. Of course he’d done his research on the boy, but there was no reason to admit it. “The name is vaguely familiar.”

Tessai read from his phone. “The Lieutenant took an early retirement due to medical issues after,” there was almost a pause, “the incident at Shibuya Crossing five years ago.”

 _The incident_ , Kisuke thought wryly. _What a polite way to describe an assassination attempt._

Shibuya Crossing was chaos on concrete. A seething mass of consciousnesses that moved as one, unquestioningly obeying a set of rules imposed by an even larger mass of consciousnesses. Each person was able to break from the pattern, to strike out on their own, but almost no one did.

He’d filmed hours of the Scramble Crossing over the years, running algorithm after algorithm, studying everything from epidemiology to psychohistory, trying to find the tipping point, the grain of sand that causes the avalanche, the switch that turns a person into _people_. A group into a mob.

Five years ago Kisuke had been that switch.  His mission had been to prevent an assassination attempt against the wife of a visiting dignitary whose opposition wanted to drive a wedge between their coalition and Japan.  The catch? He had to do it in a way that left no question that there had been _no attempt_ in the first place.  So, when the mission parameters came in he arranged for the wife to be escorted, with a bare bones contingent of bodyguards, on a shopping and tourist trip through Japan’s Shibuya district.

And then he caused an earthquake.

Well, it wasn’t really an earthquake, but it was amazing how similar a timed set of underground explosions felt to the real thing.  

The buildings in the area were designed for the real thing, so there was no structural damage. No, it was simply a matter of stirring the hornet’s nest of the Crossing, forcing the crowds in particular directions by triggering the street lights in predetermined patterns, and setting obstacles in strategic places.

The ambassador’s wife was swept away to safety, where she had a ladylike fit of the vapors and took to her bed for the rest of their visit.  No one was the wiser.  And if there were a few casualties from the human stampede, well it was a small price to pay for the continuing goodwill of a powerful ally.

Kurosaki Isshin had been one of the local police engaged to support the ambassador’s wife’s visit. When her security detail moved to remove her from danger, he stayed behind and faced the tidal wave of bodies. He saved three teenagers by pushing them out of the way of a car whose driver panicked.

He was not so lucky.

The impact punctured a lung, broke several ribs, his left femur, and shattered his left ankle.  He spent almost a month in the hospital, and the next year in physical therapy.

“Oh, yes.  I remember now.”  He tapped his chin.  “Apparently the _throw yourself in the path of danger_ gene is strong in the Kurosaki line. Perhaps it is on the same part of the chromosome as the _think you’re invincible_ gene.”

Kisuke had tagged Taka’s men as soon as they’d walked into the coffee shop—there’s something about people trying to look ‘normal’ that makes them stand out like sore thumbs—but he’d noticed Kurosaki Ichigo before that.  The redhead had been entirely focused on his laptop, everything in him poured into that moment, and the look on his face had taken Kisuke’s breath away.  What would it be like being the target of that kind of focus? To be seen so clearly?

For a man who lived to be invisible, it was terrifyingly appealing.

And then, when Kisuke was ready to lure the attackers away from the innocent bystanders, he found out firsthand what it felt like. It was as if a spotlight had fallen on the pair of them. The handsome redhead drew every eye in the shop, and then he proceeded to put on an act worthy of any Kabuki theater.

_I waited over there for two hours. I hope you’re not expecting me to rub your bottle tonight, Anata. You’ll be sadly disappointed._

Hearing that voice calling him _Anata_ had done unexpected things to his stomach, and seeing the sexy sway of slim hips weaponized to practically knock Mamushi’s man out of his chair had brought a rare smile to his face. He knew the young man thought he needed protection, and it would have been annoying if his flamboyant affection and attempts at speaking in code hadn’t been oddly endearing.

He’d stood so close that Kisuke could smell coffee on his breath, and a faint citrusy smell from whatever he bathed in.  His hair was even more vivid up close, the red bleeding to orange like flames, and his brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and concern and what almost looked like excitement.

Kisuke’s first idea was that he was a member of another Yakuza branch, but that notion disappeared when the fight was over and Kurosaki’s first impulse was to tend to the wounded attacker.  No street thug would bother.  Then, when he’d offered to call the police, the mystery had been solved.  

Unfortunately now there were other problems.

Taka’s watchers were always a factor. None of them would believe that Kurosaki’s actions were motivated by the sheer goodness of his soul.  Kisuke had a hard time believing it, and he _knew_ it was true. So, Kurosaki was now a person of interest. With his looks and striking hair, he’d be impossible to miss, and the more he insisted he was an innocent bystander, the more people would refuse to believe it.

He’d listened to Taka’s phone call and his gut twisted, knowing that the younger Kurosaki was now on his radar. Luckily one of the lessons Taka had taken to heart was paranoia so he hadn’t sent a team of hunters out immediately, preferring to investigate privately.  That bought Kisuke enough time to take him out of the picture—at least for a while.  Hopefully by the time Taka was back in the driver’s seat, he’d have refocused on Kisuke, and forgotten all about his Good Samaritan.

If not…  well, the dance between student and teacher was destined to end sometime.  Kisuke would not let Kurosaki Ichigo become another ‘acceptable casualty’ like his father.

“There is a certain fearless quality there,” Tessai nodded, “but it doesn’t change the fact that because of his involvement, this was the first time I’ve spoken to the Director without having to defend your mental health, or persuade him that your being independent of the Omnisukido was not going to become a threat to national security.”

Kisuke’s eyebrows rose a fraction at that.  He’d known old man Kawasaki was fed up with his lack of respect, but he didn’t realize how deep the frustration ran.

“He is such a flatterer.” Kisuke gave a chuckle, and fluttered his eyelashes.  “It would take more than little old me to be a threat to national security.”

Tessai blinked.

Well, maybe that _had_ been laying it on a little too thick.

“He was impressed that Kurosaki-san’s presence had such an immediate influence, and he was also pleased to find out that he is a skilled medic.  From the records I was able to uncover, he was supposed to enter medical school this year, but is spending the year working Karakura Clinic to gain practical experience instead.”

That explained Kurosaki’s bandage-fu in the field, and the deeply seated need to care and protect. It did not explain why Tessai was still talking about him, though.  Tessai never talked this much.  About anything.

“I’m sure you will explain to me why you have taken such an interest in Kurosaki Ichigo-san.” He crossed his long legs and let his geta rock against the bottom of his foot.  “Not that he isn’t extremely attractive, but I was under the impression that you preferred your company a little curvier, and a lot less _male_.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, Urahara-san,” Tessai said, smiling.

It made Kisuke very nervous.

“I do?”

“Yes,” he said. “Kawasaki-sama and I agreed that Kurosaki-san would be perfect, not for me…  but for you.”

Kisuke’s geta fell to the floor with a clack.

“I beg your pardon, Tessai?” His voice dropped and Tessai looked at him blandly.

“Urahara-san, if you’d bothered to take part in the conversation with the Director today, _or any other day_ , you’d understand that Kawasaki-sama has reached a personal Rubicon. He is willing to continue to honor your contract, supply you with your research materials, your weaponry, and your budget. However, he considers the current situation, and your attendant behavior, too risky.  So, until further notice you are required to have a companion with you any time you leave the facility.  He was going to assign one of the Omni--Suì-Fēng was his first suggestion—but I suggested that you would be more likely to agree to someone with fewer ties to the organization.”

Kisuke’s mouth was hanging open unapologetically.  The old man was insane!  He and Suì-Fēng would kill each other with 24 hours.  Although, honestly, that might be Kawasaki’s ulterior motive.  

“I suggested Kurosaki Ichigo-san as an alternate choice.  He is trained in judo and karate, has a license to carry a weapon in Tokyo Metropolis, and has more than adequate medical experience. He has already proven to be willing to stick his neck out for a stranger, and since he could list this employment as medical consultation, he would still be able to use it for the purposes of medical school admissions. Plus, on a practical note, I am certain we could offer him more than his current income at the Karakura Clinic.”

Kisuke stared at his oldest friend, wheels spinning in his head as the reality of the situation slowly percolated through his knee-jerk denial.

He was being stuck with a babysitter.  He, Urahara Kisuke. Getaboshi. The deadliest agent of the Omnisukido.  It would be laughable if it wasn’t so annoying.  

It wasn’t that he objected to Kurosaki personally. He was a civilian, and untrained, but he’d be much easier to deal with than any of Kawasaki’s stooges. It was clear, though, that he was intelligent and quick on the uptake. It would be very hard to keep the reality of Kisuke’s position a secret. Somehow he doubted the son of a decorated police officer was going to approve of a paid assassin, no matter how officially sanctioned he was.

Kisuke pulled his fan back out and snapped it open, his mind traveling through the new data at Mach speed, his attention drawn to the folder Tessai had brought in.

“Is that his file?”

Tessai nodded and handed it over silently.

“I sent him a note earlier inviting him to visit, and informed him that we had a position that he would be an excellent fit for.”  He looked down at his phone and checked the time.  “If he decides to come, he should be here by three.”

Kisuke opened the file and stared at the photo.  The red hair was not as vibrant, and the brown eyes lacked the sparkle he’d seen yesterday, but he still felt his breath hitch a little at how handsome the man was. If he took them up on their offer Kisuke would be able to make sure no one targeted him or his family.  Two birds. 

He looked at Tessai and nodded once before turning back to the file.

Maybe having a babysitter wouldn’t be so bad.


	5. Come Into My Parlor

The office building was as non-descript as humanly possible, but the security system was intense. Ichigo counted fourteen cameras from the front door to the office where he was now sitting.

He wondered how many he’d missed. Probably as many as he’d seen.

“I still don’t understand. Why me?”

Tsukabishi Tessai was as quietly efficient behind a desk as he had been zip stripping the armed and dangerous. Talkative, however, he wasn’t.

“Kurosaki-san,” he said. “As I stated before your skills are quite impressive…”

Ichigo raised a hand and stopped him.

“Look. I’m sorry to be rude, but my skills, as you put it, are not the question. The question, is _why me_?”

Ichigo forced himself to sit back in the wooden chair, trying to appear as relaxed and professional as he possible. It was a challenge. Ever since he’d received the note at the dojo, he’d been on tenterhooks. He’d replayed every detail of the fight at the coffee shop, had wrung every possible meaning out of the conversation he’d had with the mysterious blond man in geta. The waiting was excruciating. Now, he finally had his answers within reach and the interview was going in circles upon circles of _nothing_ , well… it was too much.

“Except for the series of unfortunate events that led to our meeting at the coffee shop yesterday, there is no reason for you to either know who I am, or be interested in hiring me to do anything. Yes,” he waved at the documents neatly spread across the desk across from him, “you’ve assembled quite a bit of information about me in a _frighteningly_ short period of time, but still, that is not an explanation of why _me_?”

The larger man might have sighed. He looked at Ichigo intently.

“When you came to Urahara-san’s assistance at the coffee shop, you put yourself directly in danger, without pause or question, simply because you believed it was the right thing to do. You did it in such a way that there was no damage to the premises or civilians, and you had the skill and presence of mind to undertake field dressing wounds so that there were no further complications from the action.”

“You have as high a level of martial arts training as many members of the Onmi corps, and a much higher level of medical expertise, but more than that, you employed all those skills simply to protect the people around you in general, and Urahara-san in specific. It was, as my associate said at the time, both surprising and appreciated. Possibly more appreciated _because_ it was so surprising.”

“This,” he waved a large hand to indicate the offices around them, “is a branch of the Onmitsukido, and Urahara Kisuke-san and I work in support of that agency. Urahara-san’s work, in particular, has brought him to the attention of a particularly unsavory group of people. They are not likely to take yesterday’s setback well, nor are they likely to stop there. He is, unfortunately, likely to be targeted by such an attack again, and soon.”

Ichigo nodded. The two men he’d seen in the coffee shop had clearly been trained professionals, but they were muscle not brains. It only stood to reason that the brains were still out there, and probably had more muscle to order around.

“Urahara-san is a brilliant man, but his attention is better focused on finishing his research than on self-defense.”

The whole situation seemed crazy, but he’d seen the attack in the coffee shop with his own eyes. Bringing in a stranger as some weird bodyguard, though, made even less sense that the rest of it. The Onmitsukido was the governments most elite stealth operations, only ever mentioned in hushed tones after they’d managed to stop some mysterious threat or another to the public safety. They could have their pick of people to protect Urahara and his project.

“That still doesn’t explain…” He was cut short when the door behind him opened and Urahara Kisuke walked in.

“Kurosaki Ichigo-san!” His voice had a new sing-song tone, but was otherwise the same. The clothes looked the same, too, right down to the geta, but something about his posture was different. More purposeful.

“I told you we would meet again. Who knew it would be so soon?”

Ichigo felt his heart rate kick up a notch, but at least he hadn’t jumped in his chair. That would have been embarrassing. He dipped his head in a brief bow and then looked back into clear gray eyes that were framed by ridiculously long lashes.

Not that he noticed, or anything.

“I was certainly surprised.” That sounded reasonable, and not nearly as smart-assed as he usually was.

“I’m sure you were, Kurosaki-san. I’m sure you were.”

The blond moved into the room and stopped beside the desk.

“I told you it wouldn’t work, Tessai-san.” He smiled like a proud parent and Ichigo frowned as the man pulled a white fan from his sleeve. It was covered with lotus and looked like something Yuzu would have played with when she was little and fascinated by geisha. “Kurosaki-san may be impulsively protective in the face of danger, but he is clearly too intelligent to be lured in by pretty promises and flattery.”

Ichigo watched as the fan move slowly back and forth. Long fingers gripped the lacquered handle with a grace that felt out of sync with the silly image the man projected, like he’d handled the cane at the coffee shop, and he cataloged the information along with all the other contradictions.

“First let me say that I am very happy that you accepted Tessai-san’s invitation. Whether anything else arises from our visit today, I am pleased to be able to thank you again for your actions yesterday.”

Ichigo felt his face heat. He hated this kind of thing, unnecessary compliments and niceness, and wished they could just get back to the questions he wanted answered.

“I told you yesterday, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.”

Urahara stopped fanning himself and gave him a look.

“No, no, no,” he said it teasingly, but it had a little bite to it. “You’re smart enough to know better than that, too. If you hadn’t jumped in to help me, no one would. And if by chance someone else had tried? They’d have probably been shot for their trouble, and who knows how _my_ morning would have gone.”

Ichigo flinched at the baldness of the statement, but didn’t argue. There was no point. Hell, his mother had died because no one was willing to help her.

“So, you are special. You know it. Tessai-san knows it. I certainly know it.”

The blush was back in force.

“But you wanted to know why you’ve been called here, offered a position wildly outside the experience of someone training for med school, when for all intents and purposes the Onmitsukido is the place where other people come to find protectors.”

Ichigo nodded briefly. Now they were getting somewhere. “That’s about the size of it.”

The blond waved a languid finger and smiled behind his fan.

“I’m afraid that Tessai-san has been avoiding the real reason we chose you for this position. You see, we have a bigger problem than someone trying to kill me.” Urahara gave a strange laugh. “Someone always wants to kill me.”

“This time is different, though.” He dropped into the vacant chair next to Ichigo with boneless grace and leaned his face close. “Can you guess how?”

Ichigo thought about it for a moment and came to a quick conclusion, the pieces finally falling into place. He sucked in a breath.

“Someone is selling you out.”

Urahara’s gaze narrowed, focused, and Ichigo shivered at the approval there.

“Oh Kurosaki-san,” he said. His voice dropped a little. “You are a constant surprise.”

Ichigo felt his stomach tighten and flutter at the approval in that voice, and he couldn’t deny that he’d like to hear it again. A lot.

“Since you were seen with me yesterday, and were so _friendly_ …” Gray eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter and Ichigo didn’t know whether to be flustered or annoyed.

He was going to go with annoyed for now. It was safer.

“It would make perfect sense if you continued to be seen with me. Then Tessai-san would have the peace of mind of knowing that the eldest of the honorable Lieutenant Kurosaki Isshin would be looking after me, we wouldn’t have to worry about being betrayed from within, and you…”

Urahara tapped Ichigo on the arm with the little white fan, his face suddenly open and guileless and totally, totally unbelievable.

“ _You_ would have all the time in the world you needed to write.”

***

Kisuke almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

He’d arranged to watch the interview from the next room, and could read the resistance building in the young man’s eyes and spine. Kurosaki’s instincts were good—he knew something was wrong. But Tessai was stubbornly sticking to the script, and if he wasn’t careful they were going to lose him.

Kisuke wasn’t about to let that happen.

Sure, he’d been upset that Yama was being heavy handed and insisting he needed a keeper, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and he was absolutely certain it wouldn’t be the last. The key was to abide by the letter of the decree just enough to piss the old man off, without ever giving him the satisfaction of what he wanted. Then he would think twice about making some asinine demand the next time. Rinse and repeat.

That wasn’t the only reason they were looking bringing him into the fold. Kurosaki was going to be in danger until Kisuke could make certain that no one was going to turn him or his people into collateral damage. At least this way he could keep him close _and_ fulfill the letter of the Director’s law. The writing thing was lucky break. Everything had been going so fast he hadn’t had time to do a deep dive into the young man’s background, but he’d managed to track down one of the coffee shop’s attendants early that morning. Turned out that the redhead was a regular fixture, sitting in his corner typing madly on what he hoped would be a best-selling thriller.

Throwing it into the conversation was a calculated risk, but anyone who put off med school, and invested that much time behind a keyboard had to have a weak spot, and he had to know that being in the heart of the Onmi would be the best research he could ever hope for. Hell, after a few weeks in the heart of Spook Central, he should be able to write a doozy.

_If_ they let him publish it.

“Does that address your questions, Kurosaki-kun?” Tessai asked.

Kisuke watched the emotions flitting over Ichigo’s face, and raised his fan to cover his own interest.

He’d watched the brown eyes flicker from suspicious, to confused, to fascinated. They’d shone with an intelligence that Kisuke’d only hoped for, and then they’d shone with something else that Kisuke wasn’t sure was a good idea to even notice, not to mention hope for.

“Some of them. You mentioned a medical role.” Those same amber eyes focused on him, understanding instinctively that while Tessai might be talking, Kisuke was the real driver in the room. “I don’t want to give up my position at the clinic if it means that I won’t have the appropriate recommendations and experience if,” he stopped and corrected himself with a stammer, “ _when_ I apply to medical school next fall.”

Kisuke smothered a smile. _Gotcha._

“Of course, Kurosaki-san,” he said, carefully putting his feet together in front of him and leaning forward. “As you saw yesterday, your medical skills will be absolutely necessary if we are faced with another situation like the one at the coffee shop. Plus, we can list you as Onmitsukido medical staff. Between Tsukabishi-san and Director Yama-san, I can promise that you will have suitable recommendations if the needs arise.”

Kurosaki didn’t even flinch at the if.

“We would never want you to take a position that would endanger your future.”

A fierce frown creased the young man’s forehead, and Kisuke knew this was the moment of truth. He snapped his fan closed, and leaned forward.

“I know this is all very sudden, and that you’re facing an enormous decision. Trust me, though. You are _perfect_ for this position, and I would be forever grateful if you could find it in yourself to help me again.”

***

Ichigo held out his hand and Tsukabishi Tessai put the job offer in it without a word.

He looked it over and shook his head. This was insane. Absolutely fucking nuts. But… he couldn’t deny the buzz of excitement keeping him on the edge of his seat, and the man sitting next to him wasn’t helping. He lounged in the chair, waving that stupid fan, every muscle relaxed and oh-so-carefully non-threatening and Ichigo thought he looking like nothing more than a wolf lazing in the sun.

The man’s physical appeal was the least of the mysteries, though. Ichigo forced himself to focus on the papers instead.

“This isn’t right,” he said, as he scanned the document. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I move into an apartment in this building?”

Urahara crossed his long legs, swinging his foot a little, but it was Tessai who answered. “I’m afraid so, Kurosaki-san. On one hand, you would need to be available to accompany Urahara-san, sometimes on very short notice, and on the other, having you on site would assure that whoever is passing along private information would be aware enough of your presence for it to be a deterrent.”

The man in question smiled behind his fan. “Surely it wouldn’t be so difficult, Kurosaki-san. I promise you’ll have all the comforts of home.”

Ichigo scowled at him.

“But I have an apartment, and a roommate. I can’t just abandon him.”

Something vaguely displeased flashed across Urahara’s face, and then disappeared.

Tessai spoke up.

“We would never expect you to do something so rash, Kurosaki-san. If you look on page three of the job description you will see that there is a stipend noted of up to three hundred thousand yen per month that is not included in your salary. The stipend is to be used to hold your current residence while you are working with Urahara-san, so that if your role here were to come to an end, you could return to your apartment with a minimum of difficulty. If, however, you wanted to forgo your current residence, that stipend could be rolled into your income.”

Ichigo stared. Three hundred thousand yen, on top of his salary? That was almost three times what he made working at the clinic. And he’d have all the time he needed for his writing!

“We would, of course, arrange for you to have days off when I would assume the protective detail for Urahara-san, however we would prefer not to set a definitive schedule. Unpredictability is important to effective security measures, and I’m afraid that you might find yourself targeted as well if you were to come to be seen as both too big an obstacle and too easy a target to track.”

Ichigo filed that piece of data away, and flipped through the pages again.

“How long would this contract last?” If it was just a couple of months, he’d be able get his job back at the clinic easily. They were always understaffed, and the director had a crush on his dad. Longer than that, might be a problem.

Tessai gave an indeterminate shrug. “The duration of the need is unknown. Once Urahara-san’s project has been completed, it is possible that the threats to his safety will disappear. However, it is also possible that whoever it is will continue to target him, knowing that having access to him would provide them with all the insight into this project, or others Urahara-san has been a part of over the years, that they could want. In the meantime, one of our sister agencies will be undertaking an independent investigation. Hopefully they will be able to find and stop the threats that currently exist, the data breach, and prevent the danger from spreading.”

“So,” Ichigo pushed his chair back to where he could see both men. “I would be acting as temporary eyes and ears, body guard, and potentially emergency medical personnel. I would live on-site, but would have irregular days off.” He waved the stack of papers in his hand. “What about the NDA? I assume any information I am exposed to here would be proprietary, but is that the extent of it?”

Both men shook their heads.

“Again, I am afraid not Kurosaki-san.” Tsukabishi-san looked tired of saying that. “We believe that while within the agency your role may be known, it would be better for outsiders not to know the details of your position.”

Ichigo stared at the man behind the desk. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“How am I supposed to explain to my family and friends, then? Plus, my roommate already knows about the job offer. We were together when your note was delivered.”

Urahara had that look again,fan nowhere in sight. “I’m sure we can figure something out, Kurosaki-san. We’ll just have to decide on a version of the truth to share with them.”

The wheels were already turning in Ichigo’s head. Renji wouldn’t like him moving out, but he wouldn’t throw a fit about it. His dad, though… that would be a bigger problem.

“It’d have to be good to fool my dad.”

Kisuke looked at Tessai who inclined his head a fraction.

“Perhaps fooling him won’t be necessary.” The blond was bland as cream, and Ichigo realized that probably wasn’t a good sign. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen your father, maybe it is time to renew our acquaintance.”

“What?” Ichigo’s brain screeched to a sudden stop, and he stared at the blond aghast. “You know my dad?”

“Don’t worry about it, Kurosaki-san.” The sing-song tone was back and Ichigo worried. “I’m sure it will be fine. He is a reasonable man. For everyone else, we can just build on your exceptional performance yesterday. _Anata_.”

All the air in the room disappeared, and he tried to swallow through a suddenly dry mouth.

Pretend to be involved? With him?

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m rarely serious, Kurosaki-san, it’s boring and it causes wrinkles!” Pale blond bangs flopped forward as Urahara chuckled. “But… surely you see that as a solution it is quite elegant. It would cover all the necessary bases, would explain the time we were together, and would discourage nosiness from all but your closest friends and family. Unless, of course, there is someone that already fills that position? I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

“No,” the denial was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and Urahara looked pleased. “I’m not seeing anyone steadily at the moment.”

“That is fine then!” The fan reappeared and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment as he lost sight of Urahara’s smile. “Does this mean you’ll take the position?”

Ichigo thought over all the pros and cons, and took a deep breath.

“Where do I sign?”


	6. The Wounded Rat

Kagetaka stared at the room around him.  If it weren’t for the infernally beeping monitors and the faint smell of disinfectant he’d almost think he was in a hotel.  A vase of sunflowers was on the table, next to a bowl of fruit, even though he’d had no visitors except Chiaki. The peaceful surroundings were supposed to aid in healing, to distract him from his illness, but how could he ignore the dead hunk of meat that was his right arm?

_ Fucking Urahara. _

It had been years since he’d seen his sensei in person, but the moment he’d realized who was in his rooms, that feeling, that rush he got whenever they were together had been just as strong.  Now, though,  the fascination, even though tempered with anger and bitterness, burned him with shame.

He should have known.  He’d always assumed that if Urahara came for him it would be to fight him, face to face, perhaps even to try to convince him to change his ways and come back to the Onmi. He never dreamed he’d be given so little respect.  Apparently, he wasn’t even worth drawing a sword for.

It hurt.  

Everything hurt.

He looked at his hand.  It was three times its normal size, bandaged and strapped to a board to immobilize it.  The doctors told him he was lucky.  The flesh hadn’t had time to necrotize, and he wouldn’t lose any fingers.  He might even get full mobility back.  He would never have his full strength again, though.  Never wield a katana with the same skill.  Never again claim to be a kenjutsu master. Urahara might as well have cut his whole hand off.

“Shachō?”

The idiot Chiaki was still standing over him.

“Do you have something else to say, Chiaki-san?” He glared at the pale faced man next to the bed. “Some other piece of information that will make this catastrophe somehow more palatable?  Another detail of how my lieutenant took orders from the man who tried to kill me?  Or would you rather just attempt to finish the job yourself?  Perhaps you think that if you can get me out of the way, you can take my place at the head of the Okura table?”

He knew he was being unfair, but the morphine dulled his control and all that remained was anger.  Anger at his men.  Anger at Urahara.  Anger at himself.

His lieutenant bowed deeply, his face twisted into a mask of mortification.

“Of course not, Shachō,” he said. “I would never betray you. No one will ever lead the Okura keiretsu but you, or your designated heirs.  I would gladly kill anyone who tried…”

Kagetaka forced himself upright in the bed.

“Silence!” He took a deep breath, and turned feverish eyes toward the cowering man. “You could not kill a dog. Keep your breath for what it is good for.”

He dropped back against the pillows and muffled a groan, pain shooting through the morphine induced haze.

“Chiaki-san,” he gritted his teeth and looked at the man who had been by his side for five years.  Kagetaka had found him on the street, trained by the military but tossed aside just as he had been.  Unsuitable.  Unstable.  Undesirable. It had almost broken the man to be abandoned, and it was what made him so loyal to Okura now. “Tomorrow I want you to designate two teams for surveillance of the area surrounding Como’s Coffee Shop.  If the description of the man with Urahara was correct, and he is a regular in the area, it should not be difficult for your men to locate him.  Even in Shibuya a young man with orange hair should stand out, yes?”

If possible, the man next to the bed bowed even lower.

“As you say, Shachō.  I will set the teams first thing in the morning.  Is this a passive hunt, or may they ask after the target?”

Kagetaka looked at his lieutenant and nodded approvingly. Subtlety wasn’t Chiaki’s strong suit, but he knew his master, and was wise enough to ask rather than go rushing head-first into a hornet’s nest.

“Passively, I think, for now.  If we have to, we can turn up the heat later.”

Kagetaka would find this man, whoever he was, and then he would make his sensei pay for replacing him.

A nurse came into the room, silent on white soled shoes. Her beautiful face was obscured by the dim lights and she looked like a ghost.  Kagetaka wondered if he would look like that before he was finished with Urahara.

A few words were quietly spoken and Chiaki faded away into the darkness. The nurse pushed a button, clicking three times, and morphine flooded his system before he could argue that he didn’t need it.

He closed his eyes and dreamed of his master killing him.


	7. Exploring New Territory

“Where do you want this chair, Kurosaki?” 

Ichigo stepped away from the window to see Renji standing in the door with an enormous box.

“Over here. I have to put it together.”

The apartment he’d been given was on the top floor, and even though the building wasn’t tall enough to see the Tokyo skyline, he had a view of a small green space that he guessed was for employees to use. It would be nice to sit near the window and look out while he was writing.

Or, it could end up being a distraction and he’d move his desk to where he was staring at the wall. He’d figure out what worked soon enough. For once, though, he had a choice.

He hadn’t had room for more than a desk and a straight wooden chair in his room before, and he never felt right taking over the living room when he was trying to concentrate on his writing, so having the luxury of space to spread out a little had already gone a long way to making the move a good thing as far as he was concerned. Renji had been a little harder to convince, but after poking around the internet and asking questions of a few lawyer friends, he agreed it looked like it wasn’t a front for some underground sex slave ring and Ichigo would be fine.

Renji dropped the box.

“Why would you buy a chair you had to put together?  Don’t they come already assembled?”

Ichigo split the cardboard and started pulling out packing material.

“I wanted this one.  The arms lift so they don’t get in the way of my elbows when I’m typing with the laptop in my lap instead of on the desk.”

Suddenly there was a  _whump_  behind him and he jumped, startled.  Renji had taken a flying leap and landed spread-eagled on the Western-style bed in the corner.

“This thing is huge!” Renji arched his back and Ichigo could see top edges of the tattoos that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans where his shirt rode up.  Neither of them had been able to stretch out like that on his futon. “You think you’ll be able to sleep on this thing?  It’s so bouncy.” He flopped around a little, experimenting with the mattress before pushing up on his elbows and grinning.  “Maybe we could see just  _how_  bouncy.”

Ichigo threw a piece of Styrofoam and caught him in the forehead. “You are such an ass.”

Renji wiggled his eyebrows. “You never complained about my ass before.”

Ichigo laughed.  He couldn’t help it. Renji grinned.

“That’s better.  You’ve been walking around this place looking like something was going to jump out and bite you if you weren’t careful.”

Ichigo lifted the pieces of the chair out of the box, sorting them slowly.  “I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”

“What do you mean?”  Renji rolled over and propped his chin on his hands.  “The moving?”

The wheels slid into the base, and then the piston to adjust the height.  Finally, he hefted the body of the chair, slotted it into place, and let out a heavy sigh.

“The move.  The job.  All of it.” Ichigo didn’t mention the lecture he’d gotten from his dad after Urahara’s visit.  That had been extra weird.  Especially when he mentioned Urahara’s promises that he would keep Ichigo safe.  Wasn’t he the one supposed to be making sure that  _Urahara_  was safe?  “I mean, a week ago I was a general dogsbody at the clinic, and now I’m bodyguard to a sexy, super-secret science guy and trying to uncover some kind of, I don’t know…  corporate espionage mole?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t write this stuff.  No one would believe it.”  He looked almost sad.  “I mean, why would he want me?”

Ichigo rolled the now functional chair over to the corner by the window and dropped into it heavily. It bounced.

He did it again and the serious look dropped from his face. He and grinned at his tattooed friend.

“The bed isn’t the only thing that bounces in here.”

***

Kisuke glanced over at the security monitor for Kurosaki’s apartment.  Ponytail was still there.

He turned back to his work.  

“Yoruichi?” 

A low-pitched feminine voice answered in his ear. _Yes, Kisuke?_

“Give me a security summary of the occupants of the building.”

_ Currently there are twenty-seven people logged in. Twenty-two are regular members of the Onmitsukido, two are cleaning crew in the main building and one in the annex, Kurosaki Ichigo and his guest Abarai Renji. There are two agents not signed in, facial recognition indicating Suzuki Hanzo and Tanaka Midori. They have been in a meeting with the Assistant Director since ten-thirty this morning.  There is a delivery person in the lobby with lunch for Tessai-san, who really should get out more, and then _ , the voice dropped its professional tone and settled into something friendlier _, there’s us._

Kisuke smiled.

“Heat signatures?”

Yoruichi sighed in his ear.  _You mean other than the humans?_

Kisuke nodded and the AI responded to the non-verbal cue.

_ Three cats, one dog that Suzume-chan insists is a service animal even though she’s been through two psych evals recently and neither record indicates she needs emotional support for anything except choosing terrible boyfriends.  There are fourteen snakes in the lab, and the rats are currently huddling, and I can’t count the number of individuals with the sensors at their current distance. _

Good.  That meant all the local sensors were online.  He’d specifically asked Suzume to bring her dog in today, just to make sure that the smaller heat sensors he’d installed in the offices worked properly.

“Thank you, Yoruichi.”

_ Anytime, Kisuke _ .

His earpiece dropped into silence and he wondered what the real Yoruichi would think about him using her voice for the combat AI.  She’d probably accuse him of programming a sexbot, and then demand that he either pay her royalties or let her play, too.

She _always_ had her priorities straight.

Currently, though, her priorities kept her halfway around the world.  If he managed to stay on schedule, he’d have the whole system up and running before she ever knew about it, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  They could discuss the rest over sake and sushi when she returned.

“Yoruichi?”

_ Yes, Kisuke? _

“Give me an analysis of Tessai-san.”

A second passed, and then another.

_ Body temps are normal. No unusual movements recorded.  No external signs of agitation.  One cup of green tea, which is usual for this time of day.  Six phone calls since eight a.m. and two meetings scheduled for the afternoon. _

Kisuke thought about it for a minute.  Tessai was easy. He had stats loaded for all his regular patterns.  It wouldn’t help if he needed a quick assessment of someone not regular to the system. Luckily, he had a blank slate newly installed in 5E.

“Give me an analysis of Kurosaki Ichigo.”

There was a longer pause this time.

_ Kurosaki Ichigo. Body temperature is elevated. Agitated movement recorded.  Second occupant of room also indicates agitation and elevated temperature.  Assessment indicates either conflict or physical attraction.  Not enough data for firm conclusion. _

He glanced over at the security feed from Kurosaki’s apartment.  Ponytail was stretched out on the bed, shirt riding up, looking like he belonged there. 

Kisuke read his lips. _You never complained about my ass before._

He felt a flash of disappointment. Apparently, Kurosaki was in a relationship after all.  He’d have to adjust the surveillance to include the boyfriend and make allowances for more time out of the building.  Well, he might as well go over and introduce himself if they were going to be sharing Ichigo’s time.  The last thing he wanted was a jealous boyfriend added to the mix.

***

“Kurosaki-san!” Kisuke rapped lightly on the door frame before walking into the apartment. “Settling in I see?”

Ichigo was standing in the little kitchen, putting groceries into the cupboard.

“Urahara-san!”  He gave a little head bob before turning to shove an armload of dried noodles onto the shelf.  “Yes.  I’m almost finished. Just a few more things.”

The blond moved into the living room and looked around.  “Where’s your friend? Abarai-san? I was hoping to meet him.”

Spiky orange hair disappeared behind the cabinet door and Kisuke heard more rattling in the cupboard.  “Abarai had plans this evening, and he needed to leave so he could get cleaned up.”  Ichigo popped back up and smiled.  “I think he just came to make sure I wasn’t joining a cult. Oh, and to make sure I didn’t steal his coffee maker.” He grinned around the door.  “By the way, would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No thank you, Kurosaki-san.” Kisuke refused with a polite little bow. “I must admit I only like coffee with large amounts of chocolate and whipped cream added.  Sweets are a weakness, I’m afraid.”

He turned around and walked over to the writing desk where a computer sat open to images of blood spatter identification patterns.  Interesting reading.  Totally inaccurate data, but interesting.

“Did Abarai-san’s plans come up suddenly? I’m sure Tessai-san can arrange for you to have another day to move so you could accompany him if you wanted,” he asked, running through the security roster in his head, trying to decide who to re-task for the evening.

Ichigo shrugged.  “No need. I knew Abarai would only be available to help for the afternoon. He always has a date for Friday night. I call them the flavor of the week.  That’s usually about how long they last.”

Kisuke stopped and cocked his head to one side.  “That’s very… _progressive_ of you, Kurosaki-san.”

“Progressive?”  Ichigo sounded confused for a second, and then another. Hmm. Maybe he wasn’t as quick on the uptake as he’d….

There was a muffled sound and his attention snapped back to the man behind the counter.   Broad shoulders were shaking, and he was bent over at the waist as if he were in pain.

“Kurosaki-san?” Dear God, please don’t let him be crying over the boyfriend’s infidelity.

Then laughter rolled through the room, warm and friendly. Kisuke was surprised at how pleasant the sound was.

“No, no, Urahara-san.”  The younger man smothered his grin at Kisuke’s misunderstanding of the situation.  “Abarai and I are just friends. I told you when I accepted this position that I wasn’t involved with anyone.  I hope you don’t think I’d lie about something like that.” Brown eyes sparkled with something playful.  “And anyway, I am _much_ too possessive to share.” 

Kisuke blinked.  

_ Kisuke? _ Yoruichi piped up in his ear.  _Your heartrate just spiked.  Should I alert Tessai?_

He shook his head firmly, and he could swear he heard Yoruichi laugh.

***

Ichigo watched the blond shake his head.  “You don’t feel that way?”

Kisuke mentally backtracked through the conversation.  “No.  I mean, yes.  I mean…”

The redhead laughed at his flustered face.  “It’s okay, Urahara-san.  I promise I won’t get all creepy-stalkery with you.”

Finished in the kitchen, Ichigo wandered back out into the living room and waved at the couch indicating that Kisuke should take a seat.  “As long as you’re here, though, we should probably hammer out some details about how this is going to work.  I’m assuming you were serious when you said you wanted me to look like a companion rather than a bodyguard.  So…  what do your companions look like?”

Kisuke lowered himself onto the couch, forced his muscles to relax, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He was surprised by the younger man’s direct approach. It made sense; Kurosakis made _boldly going_ almost a family motto.  He just didn’t expect it to be aimed at him. 

That was happening a lot since Kurosaki Ichigo entered the picture.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “I don’t really have a type.  I’m not what you would call a player.”  He gave a half grin and raised a shoulder as Ichigo gave a huff.

“ _Right_.” 

It was clear the redhead didn’t believe him.

“Your faith in my appeal is very complimentary, Kurosaki-san.” He pulled his fan out of its place in his left sleeve and snapped it open in front of the lower half of his face, distracting the younger man enough that he didn’t feel like he was being so closely inspected. It made him feel oddly off-balance. “I have to insist, though.  There is no string of broken hearts behind me.  Possibly an angry ex or two, who didn’t like it when I put work ahead of them, but player I am not.”

Ichigo dropped into his desk chair, orange spikes bouncing along with the rest of him, and he gave Kisuke a deeply probing look.

“You really believe that.” He sounded even more surprised. “Huh.  I guess we work from that.”

He reached over to the desk, grabbed a writing tablet and started scribbling.

“First, Kurosaki-san has to go.  No one is going to believe that I’ve moved to be closer to you if you insist on that level of formality.  Kurosaki-kun is okay if we’re going to play the mentor/student angle up, but only around people who know we haven’t really known each other that long.”  He scratched a little more at the page.  “I’m not a formal kind of guy, so I’d be fine if you wanted to call me by my first name, but I get the impression that you wouldn’t really be someone to encourage that kind of familiarity.  So, would you prefer I call you Urahara-san?”

Kisuke tilted his head, and a tiny smile peeked around the edge of his fan.

“What happened to _anata_?” He waved the white paper slowly.  “Surely I haven’t fallen so far in your estimation already.”

A few seconds passed, and a faint flush crept up the redhead’s cheeks, and Kisuke wondered if it was from anger over being teased about the scene in the coffee shop, or something else.  Either way, it was a good look.  

He touched his temple briefly, requesting an off-the-record scan from Yoruichi. He was rewarded with a murmured, _Kurosaki Ichigo is showing an increase in heart rate and body temp. Be nice, Kisuke._ in his ear.

Nice wasn’t something he normally aspired to; he didn’t really see the point in starting now.  

“I’m expected to meet the Director of the Children’s Museum tomorrow and she’s invited me for sushi afterwards.  It would be most… advantageous if you were with me.  _Ichigo_.” 

Kurosaki visibly clenched his jaw and Kisuke wondered if he’d teased a little too hard. Beginnings were always fraught with potential missteps, better to get them out of the way early.

“Of course I’ll come,Kisuke,” he deadpanned.  “I wouldn’t leave you in the clutches of such a degenerate.  Working with children like that…  has she no shame?”

And the ball was back in his court.

“None at all,” he blond shook his head sadly.  “But with you there, I won’t have to defend my honor as not being part of the _hands-on learning experience_.”

That did it.  Kurosaki’s gritted teeth loosened, and then his shoulders dropped, and finally he pushed back in his chair and shook with laughter.

“Oh my God,” he said, after he stopped laughing.  “I am _so_ using that in my book.”

Kisuke inclined his head with a satisfied little smile.  “Of course, Kurosaki-san.  I am most happy to be of service.”

That earned him another look and he quickly changed direction.

“I noticed earlier you were researching blood splatter patterns.  I’m sorry to inform you, but the website you’re using is not at all accurate.  If you’d like, I have a reference book or two in my library that would have more reliable information. Blood splatter analysis, on-site cadaver analysis… a few of the text books are really dry, but there are some excellent pictures.” 

The look on Ichigo’s face changed and now sparkled with interest. He sat up excitedly.

“You do?  You wouldn’t mind if I borrowed them?”  He sounded like a kid in a candy shop. Who knew books were the way to this one’s heart? Well, he was a _writer_ …  Kisuke probably should have realized, sooner. Still, he could work with that. 

“Yes.  In my research for the Onmi I have accumulated quite a collection of practical notes and resource materials. Some of them are rather gruesome, but I’m sure we can find something that would suit your needs.”

You would think he’d promised Kurosaki the moon.  He’d never seen anyone so gleefully hungry for information, except maybe Taka-chan.  But Taka wanted information as a tool, a weapon.  Ichigo seemed to want it for its own sake.

It almost reminded him of himself.

“If you’re done here, I can show you my private offices.  That’s where my library is, although sometimes it spills over into my apartment.  I love computers, but there’s something about having a book in your hands that changes the way you feel about the information.”

Kurosaki, no _Ichigo_ … bounded to his feet like an over-sized puppy, and grinned.

“Kisuke, promise me blood splatter patterns, and crime scene photos, and I will follow you anywhere.”


	8. Baring Teeth

**** Ichigo thought Urahara had been joking, but no.  They were at the Tokyo Toy Museum, and the Director hadn’t stopped touching Kisuke since they’d arrived.

If Ichigo stiffened as pale pink-tipped fingers hovered over a green sleeve, or daintily floated close—too close—to a green yukata covered shoulder, well, that was his job.  She was lucky he didn’t bare his teeth at her and growl.

He’d thought about it.

After the first round of introductions, he’d stepped back a little. He followed them into the quiet offices behind the scene where _Urahara-sama_ had been led through every detail concerning the new displays, the new plantings that had been installed in the gardens, even the repairs that had been made to the roof. Ichigo was bored out of his mind, but he listened attentively, even as he tried to decide if it would be possible to murder someone on the museum’s grounds and get away with it. 

“Would Urahara-sama care to resume our game of Go, now?” The Director bowed in Urahara’s direction but gave him a little sideways look as she rose.  “I would not want to keep your companion waiting, although I would be very disappointed to skip our weekly contest.”  She turned her next comment directly to Ichigo.  “Urahara-sama graciously donated the new Go tables in the parents’ lounge and has provided me an opportunity to play regularly. It has been incredibly refreshing.  As much as I love the children and their families, it isn’t the same.  Go is as subtle and complex as our toddlers are straight-forward, and Urahara-sama is by far the most talented opponent I have ever challenged.”

Director Abe Hatsu-san was quickly becoming one of Ichigo’s least favorite people. If she laid the flattery on any thicker, Urahara would fall over under its weight.

“Do you play, Kurosaki-san?” She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and Ichigo bared his teeth in an almost smile.

“No,” he said airily. “I’m much more like your other visitors.”  He dropped his lashes a little and gave Urahara a long look.  “I am _very_ straight-forward, and I am much more…  enthusiastic…  in my play.  But I don’t mind.  I brought my own entertainment with me, so you and Kisuke-chan can strategize all you want.”

Ichigo slid his backpack off his shoulder and raised it a little.  “Is there a place in the Go room where I can plug in?”

The Director stared at him a moment as if she’d never seen anything quite like him before, and then looked to Urahara. Sometime during the interchange, the white fan had made an appearance, and Ichigo thought there was a smile hiding behind it.

“If Ichigo-san doesn’t object, I would be happy to continue our game.  Shall we?” The small woman tilted her head in invitation and the blond bowed.

Urahara was barefoot, geta left by the door, and suddenly Ichigo was caught by the movement of his turning. He barely raised his heel from the floor and rotated on the ball of his foot so as to not make a sound.  It was not a natural move but looked as natural as breathing.  No one moved like that without training.

Another mystery.

Ichigo _loved_ mysteries.

He filed the little gem away with the other’s labeled “Urahara Kisuke” and wandered over to one of the low tables by the door into the playroom.  There were two young mothers sitting at the table next to him quietly talking while they watched their children enjoy themselves in the ball pit, and they bobbed a silent greeting to him as he moved to a table further from the door.  

From there he could watch Urahara and the Director without looking like he was hovering, and he might actually get through the scene he’d been fighting with.  Might.

He pulled out his laptop and plugged in, turning the screen away from any prying eyes that might object to certain levels of socially questionable behaviors, and tried to focus.  It was noisy, but nothing like listening to Yuzu singing the theme song to Sergeant Frog at the top of her lungs when she was watching her favorite cartoons, and soon he was able to tune out the whispering mothers, and the giggling children, but he couldn’t stop watching Urahara.

Was there something between him and the Director?  It seemed like Abe Hatsu-san would like there to be. But then, her actions were so completely out of line with what a museum director would usually be, it almost seemed too much. Like she wanted to _look_ like she was interested, but she wasn’t actually interested.  The touches were flirtatious, and the smiles.  There was just something missing.  

Ichigo shook his head.  He was getting paranoid.

“’Scuse me, Mister?” 

A boy who looked about five or six came up to Ichigo’s shoulder and stood there, a hot pink little phone in his hand.

“Do you have a charger I could use?  My phone is dead, and I want to call my mom.”

The boy looked like a younger version of his friend Ishida, small and angular, with a too large pair of glasses, and Ichigo smiled at him.

“Here, let me see it for a minute.  Mine might fit.”

The phone was older, and well loved, but it had a standard power jack so Ichigo was able to get it plugged in with no trouble.

“Aren’t you here with your mom?”

The boy looked at him nervously and shook his head.

“No.” He looked around before saying anything more.  “We were waiting for the train, and I wanted to come to the Toy Museum, but mom said we didn’t have time.”

There was a little wobble in the boy’s voice and Ichigo tried to look as non-threatening as possible.  The kid’s mom was probably frantic, and the little guy was clearly wishing he’d stayed with her instead of wandering off.

“I guess he heard me asking to come.”

What?

“When he said he’d bring me to the museum and then make sure I got back home before dinner, I was so happy.” The little hands tightened on the pink phone, and there was a similar tightness to his lips. Ichigo was getting a bad feeling. “I just wanted to play with the train.”

Ichigo looked over at Urahara and waited until he caught the blond’s eye.  Then, he raised a finger and with as little fuss as possible drew it across his neck, hoping the man’s strange repertoire included the infantry hand sign for danger.

He shouldn’t have worried.

Up came the white paper fan, and Urahara nodded his understanding behind it.

“Where is the man who brought you here, now?” 

The little boy looked even more upset, staring down at the still dead phone, and he whispered, “I just wanted to play with the train.”

Ichigo slid out of his chair and kneeled in front of him.  “It’s going to be okay.”  He pointed to Urahara and the Director at the Go table and said, “Can you tell me your name?”

The boy thought about it for a second and then nodded.

“I am Wada Kiyoshi.” He bowed perfectly, just the way it was taught at school, and Ichigo smiled.

“It is very nice to meet you, Wada-kun.  I’m Kurosaki Ichigo.  My father is a policeman, and I am going to make sure you get home safely to your family, okay?”

He could see the effect of the words as they sank in, and he hoped it would be enough to get the boy to go along with the next part of his plan.

“The lady playing Go with my friend in the silly hat is the director of the museum.  She is very nice, and I’m sure you’d be safe with her if you wanted to go into her office and wait for your mother there.”  He looked straight into the boy’s eyes.  “You and she can go in there and no one will tell the man who brought you here where you’ve gone.  Okay?”

The tiny shoulders shook a little, and the hands tightened even more around the pink phone. “He wouldn’t find out where I live?”

Ichigo was going to hurt this man, whoever he was.  There was a special hell for people who put that kind of look on kids’ faces.

“No.  He won’t know who you are, or where you live.  I promise you that.”

Something in his tone must have convinced the boy he meant it.

“I ran away from the man in the forest of trees.  There was a little tunnel he couldn’t fit into, and he didn’t see me duck into it.  After he left, I crawled back out and came this way.”  He shrugged a little and looked at Ichigo gratefully.  “I’m glad I did.”

“I am glad you did, too, Wada-kun.”  He unplugged everything and slung everything into his bag, making sure Wada-kun still had his phone.  “Let’s go introduce you to my friends.”

***

“Director-sama,” Kisuke said quietly, “I believe our entertainment is about to be curtailed.”

Ichigo and his new little friend appeared at Abe’s elbow.

“Please pardon us,” the ginger said, his earlier attitude nowhere to be seen, “I’m afraid that my friend Wada-kun here has become separated from his mother.”

Kisuke watched Ichigo gently handling the child and remembered the two younger sisters he’d helped raise.

“Oh my, Wada-kun,” he said, gesturing dramatically with his fan.  “We must certainly remedy this situation.  Is your mother in the museum?”

The Director had gotten to her feet and switched into professional mode as well but stopped when Ichigo raised his hand in a little warning.

“Wada-kun came here with a fellow from the train station.  His mother was talking to one of her friends, and when someone offered to bring him, he thought it would be a good chance to get to see the train again. Right?”

The boy was standing stiffly, but loosened up a little when he realized no one was angry with him.

“I wanted to see the train,” he whispered, “and the man brought me, but then he wouldn’t let me call my mother, and when he gave me back my phone it didn’t work.”

He held the little pink phone in front of him as proof.

“Kurosaki-san let me plug it in to charge, but it still doesn’t work.”  He looked worried.  “Did the man break it?”

Urahara held out his hand and the boy gingerly placed the phone in it.  It was the work of a moment to discover the problem.

“It seems that your battery has gotten lost, too, Wada-kun,” he said, handing it back to the waiting child matter-of-factly.  “Luckily, I always keep a few around.  Just in case, you know.” He smiled down, and the boy smiled back, a little less fragile looking than before. _Good._

Ichigo made eye contact with him over the boy’s head. “I’m going to go see if I can locate the fellow that brought Wada-kun here. I want to thank him properly for bringing him. You and the Director should go back to her office and call Wada-kun’s mother.  I’m sure it’s nice and quiet in there.  Better for such a phone call, don’t you think?”

Urahara could hear the _better to keep the boy away from trouble_ as clearly as if it had been spoken, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to see how Kurosaki would handle the situation.

“Director Abe-sama,” he turned and gathered the woman and boy with a sweeping motion, “let’s see if I can’t find a battery that will fit young Wada-kun’s phone, so we can get in touch with his family.  I bet they will be very happy to hear from him.”

“Kurosaki-san?” He tossed back over his shoulder, his face more solemn than usual. “Please give the gentleman my regards as well.”

The redhead nodded grimly.

“I will, Urahara-san.  Trust me.”

***

Wada-kun said he’d hidden in the forest of trees, which was an oversized indoor playground full of ramps and poles and stairways.  The walls were made of wooden slats with about an inch between them, which allowed light in, but didn’t trap little fingers.  Adults were allowed inside but were typically too big to enter certain parts of the playground, leaving them to supervise from the large center area.

No adults were there, now, though, so their friendly-neighborhood-possible-kidnapper must have moved on.

Ichigo stayed close to the wall, letting the flow of little ones mask his movement until he got close to the door of the next room, and then he ducked in around the corner. There was no man here either, but a pair of young mothers were watching the play, and him, so he decided to take a chance.

“I beg your pardon, but have you seen a man looking for his son?”

One of the women looked down at the floor, clearly unimpressed by being accosted by a stranger, but the other seemed friendlier.

“I’ve only seen one man,” she gave an embarrassed little laugh, “one _other_ man, here today.  You remember him Aine-chan—the angry man in the garden?”  She looked back at Ichigo.  “I don’t think he is used to children.  He was quite upset.”

_ I’ll be he was _ , Ichigo thought.

He smiled and bowed.  “Thank you.  I will go check the garden.  Hopefully he is still there, and I can tell him the boy is safe.”  _Safe from him._

Both women smiled and went back to watching their own children, whispering about fathers not being able to manage anything that wasn’t work related, and Ichigo half-grinned.  Isshin had done better than most, but even he had lost him or Karin on more than one occasion, and he was a trained professional.  Kids were sneaky. Luckily, Ichigo had never grown out of it.

He headed to the garden.

For downtown Tokyo, the garden was quite large.  The Director hadn’t been kidding when she’d said the new plantings were beautiful, and Ichigo almost wished he could come back and enjoy a quiet afternoon here someday. 

An image flashed through his mind of him sitting on one of the covered benches typing away, enjoying the breeze and the scent of jasmine in the air.  Then suddenly imaginary Ichigo was sitting next to a man in geta, with a silly striped hat.  Just sitting.

His breath caught a little at how appealing the idea was, but now wasn’t the time for daydreams.  Nope, now was the time to take care of a nightmare.

Growing up it was his job to watch over his sisters, and his father had lectured him more than once about how you couldn’t trust strangers no matter how nice they seemed.  It wasn’t Wada-kun’s fault he didn’t have a big brother to look out for him. Now, though, he had Ichigo.

The man was easy to find.  He was standing in the corner of the garden whispering angrily into his phone.  Dressed in black.  Wearing expensive shoes. What were the odds?

It wasn’t bad enough that it was a potential kidnapper.  No.  It was another man after Kisuke. 

The angry big brother in him fell quiet, and another predator awoke.  No one was going to hurt either of them. It didn’t matter who they were.

Ichigo reached into the side pocket of his backpack and pulled out a heavy steel cylinder, feeling it warm in his fingers as he approached.

“He’s still inside playing Go.” The man sounded frustrated. “No, I can see both exits from the garden, I know he’s still in there.”

Ichigo couldn’t make out what was being said on the other end of the conversation, but from the sound, it wasn’t hearts and rainbows. Apparently Kisuke frustrated other people besides his bosses. Who would’ve guessed?

“Yeah, he’s got the redhead with him again, but that shouldn’t be a problem.  Yeah.  Looks like the mad scientist’s got himself some arm candy.”  

Arm candy, hmmm?  First mistake. A flick of the wrist and the cylinder expanded to three times its original size.

“Look, I gotta go.”  The man in black turned and looked back towards the door, totally missing where Ichigo was hidden behind the trees next to him. “Just be ready to bring the car around when I call.  I’ve got enough Ketamine to put him out for the count, but once I do, I’m going to need you close.  Carrying someone out like a sack of rice isn’t going to be exactly inconspicuous.”

Another grunt and the phone was slipped back into its pocket.  Perfect.

Ichigo slipped his pack down his arm and tossed it across the space behind his target.  It landed in one of the ornamental bushes, crashing and rustling through the leaves as it fell.  As hoped, the over-dressed idiot spun on his heel to see what had caused the disturbance, one hand shooting for his pocket, only to drop away when he didn’t see a threat.

Second mistake.

Ichigo brought the baton down hard on the back of his left knee, and the man dropped immediately with a muffled exclamation of pain.  A backhanded swing to his ribs spun him to face Ichigo, the crack of bone sharp in the quiet of the garden.  Finally, Ichigo brought the baton down on the man’s right collar bone, snapping that as well, leaving his dominant arm hanging at his side.

“What the fuck!” The words came out on a wheeze, pain-filled eyes wide, and Ichigo smiled evilly at him as he pulled the wounded man up tight against his side.  

“Wada-kun didn’t appreciate you breaking his phone.”

The look of confusion was totally worth it.

“Wada-k-kun?” The name came out on a stuttered breath.

Ichigo pushed the butt of the baton into the broken ribs.  Not hard enough to puncture anything, but hard enough it couldn’t be ignored. The man sucked in a sobbing breath and turned grayer.

“The little boy you kidnapped to use as camouflage here at the museum?” He looked down into widening eyes.  “Yes, that one.  Using little kids as cover is a shit thing to do, you know that?”

Something in Ichigo’s face must’ve worried the man more than the blunt force trauma had. He shook his head weakly.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him.  He wanted to see the trains.  I bought him a ticket…”  the wheezy voice trailed off.  “I really wasn’t going to hurt him.”

Ichigo dropped the baton and used his free hand to pat through the man’s pockets, and just as he’d expected he found a prepped syringe.  Ketamine if what he’d heard was accurate. 10 milliliters of it.  Shit, these guys weren’t messing around.  That would’ve put Urahara down for the count _fast_. He pulled the cap off and stuck it in his pocket.

“Look, I don’t like you, but I don’t think you were going to hurt the boy, but,” he bent a knee slightly and forced the man to bend over it, pulling the material of his slacks tight across what would normally be a very attractive ass.  Ichigo squeezed out 4 milliliters of the Ketamine and shot the rest into the thickest part of muscle he could reach at this angle.  It should work.  At least it wouldn’t kill the guy.  “You were going to hurt my friend Kisuke, and I can’t have that.”

The man stared at him, a new glossiness appearing in his eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Ichigo smiled and hefted the man a little higher before heading back into the museum with his soon to be unconscious burden.  “Me?  I’m just the arm candy.”

***

Ichigo patted the top of the black car as it pulled away and waved at Wada-kun’s smiling face in the back window.

“You have made yet another conquest, Kurosaki-san.” Kisuke said,

The ginger looked back at him with a grin on his lips.

“He’s too young for me.” Brown eyes sparkled. “I like more experienced men.”

Kisuke quirked an eyebrow at Ichigo’s flirty tone.  “I meant Wada-kun’s very attractive and appreciative mother.”

“Her?” Ichigo laughed a little and shook his head.  “That wasn’t a conquest, that was sheer relief. She would have thrown herself into the arms of anyone who’d managed to produce Wada-kun at that point.  Believe me.  My dad did the same thing once when he lost me in a parking lot. I think it took them ten minutes to pry him off the man who found me.” 

The blond tutted behind his fan.  “Perhaps. Still, you shouldn’t underestimate yourself, Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo walked slowly over to where he was standing, every step measured, until he could have reached out and touched him.  That close Kisuke could see the little golden flecks in his eyes, and the faint dusting of freckles under his tan. 

_ No _ , he thought, _he shouldn’t underestimate himself at all._

“Who’s the other one?” Ichigo asked.

“The other one, what?”

The shorter man had gotten close enough now that Kisuke could smell the soap he used for his laundry, and his aftershave.

“My other conquest.”  Ichigo looked up at him through faintly lowered lashes. “You said I’d made _another_ one, so who’s the first?”

Kisuke, gray eyes wide and serious, looked straight at him and answered. “Tessai-san, of course.”

One second, then two, and three…  and Ichigo burst into great peals of laughter.

“Okay, you win!” he said. “But, why on Earth would you consider Tsukabishi-san one of my conquests?”

Kisuke looked at him for a moment trying to decide how to say _fewer bodies means less paperwork_. He couldn’t think of anything so he chose another direction.

“Do you know how many Go matches poor Tessai-san has had to sit through over the past few months?  You’re his savior, Kurosaki-san.  His absolute hero.”

Ichigo had stopped laughing by that point and gave Kisuke the look he was coming to understand as _don’t try to bullshit me old man_.

“So, he isn’t in on the secret messages hidden on the Go board, either?  Or he just gets his notes later in a slightly less obscure format and doesn’t like wasting his time on it twice?” Ichigo’s tone held its usual dose of sassiness, but there was a base of seriousness under it.

Kisuke’s blank face was a work of art.  He knew it was.  He’d practiced it for years, but it didn’t even slow the ginger down.

“I see.  He gets _some_ of it.  Whatever you think he needs to know, right?”  Ichigo scrunched up his face like something smelled bad.  “I’ve always hated the whole need to know thing.  Cops do it, too.  They keep you in the dark until it’s too late to do anything about whatever shit is going down, and then spring everything on you like, oh by the way.  Here’s a mess to deal with.  Sorry!”

Kisuke _had_ always held information close to his chest, it was safer that way, but he understood the sentiment.  He couldn’t tell Ichigo that, though, without addressing a lot of other things that were better left unaddressed if possible.

You can’t unopen the can after the worms escape after all.

“Tessai-san and I have a perfectly equitable working relationship.  He knows everything he needs to know to keep the department running smoothly.  Why would he need to know the details of my Go matches with the Director?”

Now back in the lobby, Ichigo wandered over to the welcome desk and picked up his backpack. It had been very astute of him to use it as a distraction, and his skill with a baton was something Kisuke hadn’t expected.  Except for handgun training, the skills Tessai had focused on were all hand to hand.  He was slightly embarrassed to realize he hadn’t even known that his bodyguard had been armed, and it was his job to know exactly who was holding what weapon, and how to take it from them and kill them with it.  It was a sad day that a pretty face would distract him enough that he wouldn’t recognize a threat, even when it was sitting right next to him.

“Look Urahara-san,” Ichigo said, his earlier good mood gone, “I know there is more to this picture than you’re letting on, but don’t assume I’m a fool just because I dropped out of the med school rat race to write a novel.  The moves on that board?  Not possible.  There were at least three areas where the placement of the stones could not have happened that way during game play.  That means that either the Director was passing along information about something she didn’t want tied back to her, or you two were exchanging coded love notes.  Considering the little love taps and smiles she was so carefully bestowing upon you, I’m assuming she’d be fine with sharing love notes in the public eye, so…” he held his hands out in a _voilà_ motion, “more secret spy stuff.”

Kisuke listened to his summary of the situation and marveled again at how intelligent this young man was.  And dangerous. He was a mystery, and Kisuke _loved_ mysteries.

“You told the Director you didn’t play Go.”

Ichigo shrugged and shouldered his bag, clearly ready to move on, both from the conversation and the museum.

“Why should I tell her anything?” he asked finally, a little of his flirtatious attitude returning as he headed out the door.  “I’m just the arm candy.”


	9. Fighting Impulses

“So…” Ichigo stared around the room. “This is the Sanctum Sanctorum.”

Kisuke raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, and Ichigo frowned.

“Somehow I imagined more bubbling beakers and giant static electricity generators in Frankenstein’s lab.”

Still no response. 

“It looks like an altar to Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, with a dose of Miyamoto Shigaru thrown in for good measure.”

That did it.

“The beakers and Bunsen burners are down the hall.  The generator is in the basement.  And it is much more Miyamoto than Gates or Jobs, if you don’t mind.”

Ichigo smiled. “ _Gotcha_.”

Kisuke sighed and shook his head a little.  “Yes. I admit it. You got me, and you didn’t even have to tell me my baby was ugly.”

The redhead grinned and wandered over to an empty desk in the corner.  “Is this for me?”

He nodded.  “I promised you time to write, didn’t I?  I need you to be close in case I need to handle something in a hurry, and this way you still have your own space.”

That earned him another smile. “Next you’ll tell me I can keep a toothbrush next to your sink.”

Kisuke couldn’t resist. “My sink is just down this hall, and you can keep anything there you want, Ichigo-san.” He watched as the red head snapped up to look at him and fought not to give himself away with a smile of his own. “And my bed is big enough for two if you get tired and don’t feel like trekking back up to your apartment.”

An interesting flush crept up Ichigo’s neck, and Kisuke wondered if he reacted that way to everyone.  He hoped not.

“Why do people keep trying to kidnap you?”  Ichigo punctuated the statement by dropping his backpack on his desk and pulling out his computer. Kisuke assumed that meant playtime was over.

“My fascinating personality?” He dropped into his chair and pulled two keyboard trays towards him, hitting a careful progression of keys to unlock the computers, while Ichigo plugged in his laptop. 

A few beeps and whirs later both men had their respective workstations up and running.

“Seriously,” Ichigo spun his chair to face him. “If I’m going to keep running into these guys I should at least know that much.  Is it leverage?  Money? Access?”

Kisuke pushed back from his work for a moment and considered how much to explain.

“I suppose,” he said, “in its simplest terms, they want to know what I know.”

Ichigo frowned harder than usual.  “Do you mean they want to know _how much_ you know, or they want to have the _same knowledge you have_?”

Kisuke admired how quickly Ichigo recognized the potential layers in his explanation. Always the wordsmith.

“Mostly the latter.”  He pulled his fan out and tapped his chin a few times.  “Although, the former is something they wouldn’t mind knowing either.”

“So basically, they want to force you to make whatever it is you’re making for them, _and_ they want to know how much about _them_ you and the others here,” he waved his hands to indicate the office building, “know about their plots and plans to take over the world.”

Kisuke nodded.  “That’s about the size of it, yes.”

“Huh.”  Ichigo looked disappointed.  “Here I was hoping for something exotic, long-ranging and complex, but it’s really just business as usual, isn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?”  Kisuke stared across the office at his companion.  It was the first time he’d heard anyone associated with the Onmitsukido, even as tangentially as Kurosaki, declare that one of their conflicts was basically…  boring.

“I mean, you’re working on something that’s new and different, but that’s not the plot is it?  The plot is someone wants something that doesn’t belong to them, and they’ll do what they can to get it.” Ichigo shrugged, unimpressed.  “Am I wrong?”

“Not really.”  Kisuke gave a half-hearted smile.  “I think the only things that change are the names of the people involved, and how many times they’ve stabbed each other in the back to try to get an advantage over the other side.” 

He thought of Okura Kagetaka sadly. “I’m not even sure some of them know which side is which anymore.”

“Is this thing you’re working on something that would work for anyone?” Ichigo asked.

Kisuke considered the combat AI and how it could be applied.  “Yes.  And before you ask, I considered that when I started designing it.”  He looked at his computer screens, taking in the bits of code sitting there, and tried to imagine never having started the project.  Never having mapped out how it would work. Never having mastered the intricacies of Yoruichi’s AI function. It made him terribly sad.  “I just couldn’t _not_ create it. Do you understand?”

Ichigo’s brown eyes looked at him full of sympathy.  “I do. Probably more than most.”  He laughed a little under his breath.  “Do you have any idea how many times my friends and family have asked me what the hell I’m doing taking a year off to write a novel?  I know it isn’t the same.  My stories are never going to earn me a place on the cover of SuperSpy magazine, but when they’re in my brain I just can’t ignore them.  They’re too real for me to just let them fade away.”

Kisuke nodded. “You do understand, then.”  He looked back down and started typing, trying to get his suddenly jumbled thoughts in order.

Ichigo watched him quietly for a moment and then turned back to his own work.

***

Ichigo stretched and his back cracked ominously.  He really needed to work on his posture while he was typing.

“Why is it so hard to dispose of a body?”

Kisuke didn’t look up from his work. “Human body?”

Ichigo snorted. “Yes.  Human body.  What other body would you worry about disposing of?”

Kisuke made a noncommittal sound. “Well, if you’d taken out an animal but were trying to disguise your presence you’d need to worry about disposal.  A dead gorilla would be a dead giveaway to anyone tracking you through the jungle.  Gorillas don’t have many natural predators, and none that would leave the same marks as most weapons.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be worrying about disposing of the body, I’d just want to temporarily hide it, probably in place because I wouldn’t be able to drag something that big very far from where I killed it.”

“True.” Another noncommittal sound. “So, how much time do you have?”

Ichigo huffed. “Time for what?”

“To dispose of the body, of course,” Kisuke huffed.

“Uh,” Ichigo rifled through his notes, “Ten hours?  Well, ten hours to remove it from the first site and get that cleaned up.  After that I don’t care how long it takes to dispose of it, as long as it doesn’t lead anyone back to me.”

Kisuke hmm’d softly.  “You want to move it as soon as possible if you can.  Leaving it in place gives you too many variables.  Plus, it makes clean up much worse.  How much blood?”

Ichigo stared at the blond. Were they really having this conversation?  “None. Hopefully.”

“How’d you kill him? Drugs?  Poison?”  Kisuke still hadn’t looked up from his computer.

“Scopolamine. Accidental overdose.”

“Classic.  Too bad it was an accident.”

Ichigo tried to figure out what he meant by that but couldn’t follow the train of thought.

“Why is it too bad?”

“If you meant to kill him, you could’ve used the scopolamine’s effects to get him to go wherever you eventually intended to dispose of the body under his own steam.  Then you wouldn’t have the transport problem.  You’d have to make sure no one saw you with him, but that’s not a significant obstacle most of the time.”

“It really works like that?  The whole Devil’s Breath, thing?” Ichigo was fascinated. 

“Yes.  The drug cartels in Colombia have been using it for decades.  Scarily effective.” Kisuke stopped typing and finally looked up.  “But it’s better if you don’t write it that way.  You might make some people…  nervous.”

Ichigo weighed the idea and nodded slowly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Kisuke touched the sensor behind his ear and Yoruichi’s voice greeted him. _Hello Kisuke._

“Update data files on Kurosaki Ichigo.”

A few seconds passed, and the voice purred at him again. _Data files updated_.

“Did you say something, Urahara-san?” Ichigo pulled his earbud out and turned to look at him.

“Just talking to myself, Kurosaki-san,” he said.  It was true.  There wasn’t anything in this Yoruichi that wasn’t him.  Just an _enhanced_ him.

“I think I’m going to head upstairs for dinner.” Ichigo looked back over his shoulder.  “Do you have plans?”

Kisuke looked at the clock in surprise.  He hadn’t realized it was so late already.

“I’m so sorry, Kurosaki-san.  I completely lost track of the time.”

Ichigo just smiled.  “So did I. I can’t believe how much progress I made today. You want to come up for curry?  My sister Yuzu sent enough for an army.”

Kisuke stared at the redhead.  No one had ever been happy with his losing track of time before.

“Curry sounds delicious.”

***

“Did Tsukabishi-san say there was a gym in the basement?” Ichigo finished drying the last bowl and put it back in the cabinet. “I really need to get a workout in tomorrow if possible.”

Kisuke nodded. “There are two.  One has the basic treadmills, weights, and so on, and the other is for sparring.  I’m sure you could find a partner if you’re interested. It isn’t like a dojo, though.  Down there pretty much anything goes.  It’s more about efficacy than style.”

If he thought that was going to be a deterrent, he was in for a surprise.  The redhead actually looked _more_ interested.

“It would be a good to stretch myself against someone who isn’t just going to use traditional judo.  I haven’t had a real fight since high school.”  He laughed, but Kisuke could sense the excitement bubbling just under the surface. 

Every time he thought he had a handle on Kurosaki something happened to prove him wrong.

“Don’t tell me your father encouraged fighting.”

The younger man grinned and picked up his cup of tea. “Encouraged is a strong word.  Let’s just say that my dad understood that it was likely to happen, and believed that if I was going to fight, I’d better be good enough at it to both walk away the winner, and to leave no permanent damage behind me.”

That sounded like the Kurosaki Isshin Kisuke remembered.

“No permanent damage, hmm?” he asked, pouring tea for himself as well.

“He always said it was because he didn’t want me to turn into a thug and it was important to think about the long-term consequences of my actions. But I know the truth.”

“And what was that?”

Ichigo took a drink and met his eyes over the top of the cup. “He didn’t want to have to do the paperwork afterwards, of course.”

Kisuke didn’t choke on his tea, but it was a close call.

***

The exercise rooms were surprisingly crowded.  Or not surprisingly crowded, if you thought about the jobs most of these people had. This was an associated branch of the Onmitsukido after all.

Ichigo looked at the people sparring and was impressed by the sheer variety.  There were young and old, male and female. He heard Japanese, English, Korean, and an African language he couldn’t identify, but they all had one thing in common. They were all kicking ass and taking names.

“You must be Kurosaki Ichigo-san.” A pleasantly non-descript young woman in her twenties appeared at his elbow.  “Welcome to the team!”  She gave a brief bow that was respectful enough to make him feel like he was actually welcome, but somehow conveyed the message that he still had some question marks beside his name. “I’m Tanaka Midori.”

Ichigo returned the bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Tanaka Midori-san.”  He indicated the people scattered across the mats.  “Is it always this crowded?”

The young woman looked around and nodded.  “Most mornings, yes.  Everyone likes to get their workout in early in the day so they don’t end up missing it if their schedule changes unexpectedly.”

That made sense.  Maybe he’d do better to put off his workout until later in the day.

“Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo turned, only slightly surprised to see Kisuke standing behind him.  “Good morning, Urahara-san.  What brings you out of your lair this morning?”

Tanaka stiffened beside him and he supposed he should be more respectful to Kisuke around his coworkers.

Were they his coworkers?  He’d never seen anyone around except Tessai.  He’d have to ask.

“I realized after our conversation last night how long it had been since I’d gotten in a good sparring session.”

Tanaka stared at him slack-jawed and Ichigo wondered if that indicated that Urahara was lying about sparring, or that just seeing him outside his lab was disconcerting enough to throw her for a loop.

Considering the physical control he’d seen the blond exert, he was betting it was the former. But, if he wanted to pretend he lacked skills, who was Ichigo to protest?

He wandered over to the corner where they had an area for stretches and sat down next to the wall, legs spread as widely as possible, and slowly scooted forward until he felt the insides of his thighs begin to burn. He sat like that for ten seconds and then rotated into a Chinese split, and held that, breathing deeply as he felt his muscles first protest and then relax into the familiar movement.

Urahara had taken the opportunity to prop one foot on a waist-high beam and lean into a hamstring stretch that looked completely effortless.

They stretched like that for a few more minutes in silence, until Ichigo figured it was time to roll the dice.

“Shall we shake the dust off, Urahara-san?” He pretended not to notice the audience they were gathering.

“Nothing would suit me better, Kurosaki-san.”

***

The sparring areas were simply mats spread out through the basement with walkways between, and Ichigo led them to the nearest unoccupied set and bowed before stepping on them

“Rules?”

Kisuke shrugged.  “Why don’t you decide this time.  It is too early for me to be making decisions.”

Ichigo cocked his head to one side and he half expected an argument, but the redhead surprised him again.

“Let’s try to keep it civil, then.  No knee shots or eye-gouging, and I’d prefer not to be singing soprano afterwards.  Good for you?”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. “Good enough, Kurosaki-san.” He faced the younger man and settled into a comfortable stance.  This was going to be interesting.

Ichigo slowly moved counter-clockwise a step and then another, and Kisuke played along, but unlike many of his sparring partners, he didn’t dance around.  No, the redhead was much more cautious, watching his feet and hands, trying to see when the tendons tightened to move.

So, Kisuke did the same.

They measured each other that way, judging reach and angles, until Ichigo sighed.

“This is boring.”

In a split second the younger man had closed the space between them, lashing out with his left leg, first kicking low and then high without withdrawing to rebalance.  Kisuke took the first kick to the calf and then blocked the second, moving quickly to the side before landing a closed fist strike on the inside of Ichigo’s thigh just above the knee.

There was an indrawn breath behind him, and he wondered what their audience would think of what came next.

As expected, the thigh strike threw Ichigo off balance, but he quickly regrouped, and sent a flurry of punches and strikes—arm, chest, arm, turn and strike to the back—and Kisuke flowed into his defense.  Blocking he could tell that Ichigo was still feeling him out, measuring how much force to use to strike without over-committing, and he leaned back, using his superior reach, and swung his right foot up, just missing the redhead’s chin.

A scowl appeared for a moment on Ichigo’s face, and Kisuke knew his intentional undershot had been recognized and unappreciated.

It might not have been Kisuke’s best idea.

He watched as Ichigo changed stances, dropping his traditional karate positioning into something looser and dirtier.

Kisuke threw a short punch, snapping Ichigo’s head back from the quick jolt, but as he pulled back, he noticed a strange short slide of Ichigo’s foot.  Somehow the smaller man channeled the energy behind his punch, translating it into a modified backbend, and he watched in surprise as Ichigo dropped both hands to the floor behind him and kicked him first in the hip, then the chest, and then finally in the chin, before flipping over and away from him after landing the shot that Kisuke had chosen not to.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually landed a hit like that on him.

He grinned.

Two quick shifts later and he had Ichigo’s elbow stretched to its natural limit, but before he could lock it into place to force him to the mat, his foot was lifted just enough for Ichigo to spin him in a half-circle, drop to one knee, force the overextension of his own arm but in a way that pulled Kisuke forward and over him, so he could then ram upward and headbutt him in the solar plexus.

The two separated, breathing harder now.

Kisuke noticed that the redhead was gently shaking the arm he’d just sacrificed, and he quirked an eyebrow.  Ichigo shook his head in silent refusal, and they faced off again.

This time Ichigo went straight for a judo throw, lunging forward and grabbing the front of Kisuke’s gi.  He slid his right leg between Kisuke’s thighs, and pulled him forward with all his strength, sliding him up to where he was practically sitting against Ichigo’s hip.  As the shorter man prepared to pull him over, Kisuke forced himself further forward into the hold, and then wrapped his arm around the redhead’s throat.  Ichigo realized that if he threw Kisuke at that point, he’d basically strangle himself in the process, so he performed a quick release, and shoved instead, sending Kisuke backwards with a stumble.

Their audience had grown, and he could hear mutterings from the crowd.

It was his turn to attack.  Low punch, elbow block, hit to the ear, and then grab the redhead by the gi and use his own bodyweight to throw him to the floor. But instead of faceplanting, Ichigo hit the mat on his hands and made a perfect leg sweep, catching Kisuke’s leg just enough to keep him from following through with a floor hold and pin.

By this point Tanaka Midori and the others had seen enough.  No one in the gym would wonder why Ichigo had been brought onto the team.  Now it was time to really push things.

Ichigo’s face was flushed and his eyes were wide and bright.  There was a sheen of perspiration on his skin, and Kisuke could practically _feel_ the weight of his focus. It made his skin hot, and his heart race, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of sparring.

It would always be like this between them, he thought. 

He crossed the space between them and jabbed into the brachial nerve cluster at Ichigo’s right shoulder, eliciting the first true gasp of pain from his opponent.  He followed that up with a side strike to his neck, and then flipped the smaller man around, pulling both arms up into a full nelson.

He pressed on the back of Ichigo’s neck, forcing his head down, cutting off his air, and reducing the blood-flow to his head, and he started a slow ten count. 

Ichigo groaned, and Kisuke could feel it vibrate under his hands.  He’d reached six by the time Ichigo tried to counter, dropping his weight a little, but he wasn’t concerned.  Once the gray started setting in, it would be over.

Ichigo raised his hands to his own head.  It was probably pounding from the restricted circulation, but he hadn’t tapped out yet, and Kisuke was a patient man.  But then, suddenly, the redhead struck _himself_ in the forehead, and the shock of the impact both snapped his head back allowing a rush of blood to travel back in, and it loosened Kisuke’s grip just long enough, that when Ichigo dropped his weight entirely, stomping backwards on the arch of Kisuke’s foot, and rotating his hip to pull Kisuke completely around his body, he was caught completely by surprise. It was such a novel sensation that he simply released his hold, and let himself be pinned.

Ichigo looked down at him, their breath mingling their faces were so close together, and Kisuke could feel the redhead’s heart pounding where their chests were pressed into the floor.

A murmur was spreading and Kisuke could hear whispers of _he pinned Getaboshi_ from the crowd.  Ichigo must have heard it too.  He pushed off and rolled to his feet in an easy movement, offering Kisuke a hand as he stood.

“Thanks for taking it easy on me, Urahara-san.” He gave a polite little bow and turned away from the crowd standing around. “We’d better get cleaned up, though.  Tsukabishi-san wanted me to remind you that you had an appointment at eleven, and I don’t think either of us would come away from that fight in once piece if I let you miss it.”

Kisuke watched as the spectators dispersed, Ichigo’s comments reducing what would normally have been gossip mill fodder for a month into just another sparring session.  He had controlled an entire room of trained agents with three sentences.

Kisuke’s heart sped up noticeably enough that he didn’t need Yoruichi in his ear informing him of it. How was it that Ichigo managed to keep him so off balance, so fascinated? 

They pushed the button for the elevator and waited, listening to the sounds of sparring starting up again behind them. Kisuke could feel the heat pouring off the man next to him, could smell the faint tang of perspiration.

The door opened. They stepped in.  The door closed.

“Why’d you let me do it?” He wasn’t sure what Ichigo meant.

“Do what?”

“Why’d you let me break loose so easily?” Ichigo’s voice was a little rough and he hoped he hadn’t injured his windpipe with the throat punch.

Kisuke remembered the vicious heel to the instep, and the elbow to the ribs, and wondered what Ichigo would think of as hard.

“We were sparring,” he said as the door opened on his floor. “Anyway, my ego is healthy enough that I don’t have to win.” He gave a little half-smile.  “At least not all the time.”

Ichigo stepped further back into the elevator, his eyes fastened on Kisuke’s, that fascinating flush on his cheeks again.

“Okay,” he said, “But to be fair, I’ll let you pin me next time.”

The doors closed.

 


	10. Cornering the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to earn its rating. You have been warned. ;)

 

“He hasn’t been doing his physical therapy,” Yuzu whispered as she ladled soup into bowls.  “His back has been bothering him, but you know how he gets.”

Ichigo knew. He also knew that nothing under the sun would make Kurosaki Isshin do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Is he at least taking his medicine?” he asked.

Yuzu shrugged.  “He says he is, but that’s no guarantee.  Karin threatened to start force feeding it to him if she caught him skipping doses again.”

Karin would do it, too.  Now that Ichigo was out of the house she was the one Isshin targeted with his obsessive training desires. The downside of all that training, though, was that now she could kick the old man’s ass without even blinking.

Ichigo picked up the tray of food. Yuzu had gone all out since he was coming home for a visit, and he was looking forward to something other than the simple things he bothered to cook for himself, or cup noodles.

“This looks wonderful, Yuzu,” he said with a smile, and she blushed in pleasure. 

“Nothing but the best for you, Nii-sama.” 

“She doesn’t spoil me like this, Ichigo,” his father complained as the redhead stepped out of the small kitchen. “You should come home more often. Perhaps then I wouldn’t have to suffer through steamed vegetables and rice every meal.”

Isshin moved to the head of the table and seated himself.  His movements were smooth enough, but to Ichigo’s experienced eye there was a drawn look to his father’s face, and the faintest hitch in his step as he turned to lower himself into his seat.

“Well, everyone has things they know they should do,” he said, setting rice bowls by each of the place settings, “but that doesn’t mean they do them, does it? At least if Yuzu is watching your cholesterol, you don’t have to, right?”

Karin appeared with the miso-shiru, setting each steaming little bowl down with the ease of long practice, and grimaced.

“As if he would.  He’s too lazy to even take his medicine, you think he’s going to do something that takes effort? If Yuzu didn’t plan and cook all his meals, he’d live on convenience store katsudon and taiyaki.”

Isshin covered his face dramatically.  “My daughter is so cruel to me!  Ichigo, my son, you are a professional now! Won’t you protect your father from this dishonorable attack?”

Ichigo grinned at his sister and shook his head. “Oh no!  I know better than to get between Karin, Yuzu, and you. Besides,” he said, dropping into his own seat. “You don’t pay me. Oh, _and she’s right._ ”

Everyone laughed at that, and they settled into eating. 

“So, how are you handling living at Spook Central?” Isshin didn’t look up from his food, but Ichigo could tell he was actually interested in the answer.

“It’s good,” he said, with a little shrug.  “Honestly, it’s pretty boring.  I spend most of my time sitting in a lab working on my own stuff.  It's been two weeks since I moved in, and we've only had one trip out.”

“Mmmhmmm.” His dad looked at him over the rim of his soup bowl. “So, the call I got about you saving a kid from a kidnapper wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

“The kid wasn’t in any danger, the guy just grabbed him as camouflage.”  He reached for his rice without noticing the sudden silence around the table. “Once I realized it was just another…”

Ichigo paused and looked up at his family.  Karin and Yuzu had matching expressions of disbelief, but Isshin’s eyes were dark and troubled.

“It really was no big deal,” he said, but no one was buying it.

“They really grabbed a kid?” Yuzu’s soft heart was dripping down her sleeve and into her shogayaki.

“Was he hurt?” Karin put on a tough face, but she was just as squishy as her twin. “Someone should kick his ass.”

Isshin sat back from the table a little. “From what I hear, your brother did just that.  Stepped in and saved the day.”

For all that the words sounded complimentary, he didn’t look pleased.

“Dad, I told you.  It was no big deal. The guy is safely under wraps, and little Wada-kun has an interesting story to tell his friends.  That’s all.”

The elder Kurosaki frowned even harder.  “You said this man, this kidnapper, was using the child to get closer to Getaboshi?  Animals! Monsters!  I knew when he showed up again that trouble was in store.  Everywhere that man goes, danger follows, and now he has swept you up in his wake.”

Dark red circles bloomed high on his father’s cheekbones.

“I should have known not to accept his assurances that you would not be in danger.”

Ichigo stared.  What the hell was this?

“Are you talking about Urahara-san? First, I _have_ been hired to protect him, and that sort of implies that there’s something to protect him _from_ , so if you thought there would be no danger, well that was pretty stupid of you.  Second, it isn’t like he asked for these people to target him. And third, why the hell should he be promising you anything, especially that I wouldn’t be in danger?  I’m his fucking bodyguard!”

Isshin banged a fist on the table causing the dishes to jump and rattle.

“Watch your language, Ichigo. You don’t disrespect your sisters like that, and to answer your question, he should promise to keep you safe because he’s _Getaboshi_.  The man’s a killer a hundred times over. A corpse fly. He plays games with the gangsters, reopening old feuds just to watch them at each others throats. He and his kind are the reason your mother is dead.  So, you can imagine my surprise when he showed up at my door telling me that you’ve stupidly put yourself in danger, _just like she did_ , and that the only way he can keep you safe is if you’re close enough for him to watch over.”

Ichigo must’ve made some noise, because all three sets of eyes flew to him.  The reason his mother was dead?  What the hell did that mean? His mother died during a street fight, years ago.  Kisuke couldn’t have been twenty years old then.  And what was this about Urahara watching over him?  His dad had said that before, but he couldn’t mean it like that.

Isshin stabbed his chopsticks into his rice and left them standing there, the insult a silent testimony to his anger as he glared across the table.  “That’s right, Son, you’re finally catching on. You’re his bodyguard? Don’t make me laugh. You’re being _babysat_ by the government’s pet assassin, Ichigo. And from the sound of things, it looks like he’s not even doing a very good job of that.”

Isshin stood up and shook himself like an old lion.  “If that man thinks I’m going to stand by and let another member of my family be collateral damage in his private war, he has seriously underestimated _this_ Kurosaki.”

He stomped towards the door and grabbed his shoes.  “Girls, I’m going out.”  He gave Ichigo one last hard look, and then turned away.  “Don’t wait up for me.”

***

“Yoruichi told me you were down here.”

The exercise room was empty and dim, the daytime workout crowd having long gone home.

“Well, now you see your little spy program was right, and you can leave.”

Ichigo had calmed his sisters down after his father’s outburst and had told them to call if they needed him, but he was too worked up to just head back to his apartment.  Instead, he headed to the basement.  Running through katas had always helped him organize his thoughts.  This time, though, an hour of practice had just left him more confused and frustrated than he started. 

And if the little voice in the back of his head was right, it was about to get worse.

“My little spy program, as you call it, also said that your heartrate and temperature were elevated, your breathing was too rapid, and that you seemed in distress.  Tell me, Kurosaki-san, what has so disturbed you?  I thought your plans tonight were simply dinner with your family?”

Ichigo looked at the blond.  He seemed to be sincerely interested.  To be sympathetic. But his dad, while annoying, had never lied to him. That meant that the whole reason he was here was a lie, and that everything he thought he knew about Kisuke was now suspect.

It hurt more than it should.

“You know how it is.  Sometimes people just get under your skin and you need to work things out.”

He walked over to the practice weapons and pulled out two hanbō staves. He threw one at Kisuke, who caught it effortlessly.

“If you’re going to stay, you might as well make yourself useful.”

A slow smile appeared on the older man’s face as he stepped onto the mat, slowly swinging the short staff in circles. “Ah, Kurosaki-san. I didn’t expect you to fulfill your promise so soon.  But if you’re that interested in letting me pin you, I am happy to oblige.”

Ichigo’s heart stutter-stepped in his chest at the suggestive tone in Kisuke’s voice, and he stomped on the response. 

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

He moved fast, fueled by anger and frustration and a worming disappointment in himself and the man he’d come to feel so drawn to, and swung.

His sudden attack caught Kisuke off-guard, and the blond stepped back quickly, only managing to deflect the strike at the last moment. Before he could regroup Ichigo feinted to the left, pulling his abdominal strike back at the last moment before back-blocking and landing a solid hit just above the blond’s knee.  Kisuke took it on the wide part of the muscle, so except for some bruising it wouldn’t leave any permanent damage, but it was clear that Ichigo wasn’t playing coy.

“I can see that, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke sounded as light and airy as ever though his eyes were darkened with something that looked like caution.  Ichigo didn’t believe he was truly afraid, but at least he wasn’t treating him like a child that needed babysitting. “I still don’t know what has gotten you into this state, though.  Do you wish to share, or shall we simply continue our other dialogue?”

With that he raised his staff, jabbing quickly into Ichigo’s shoulder, and then aimed for his ear.  The ginger dropped his head and raised his staff, blocking the blow, and then slid his staff forward along the opposing length, forcing Kisuke to either rotate his grip or lose his leverage.  Then, in the second when Kisuke was shifting his hold, Ichigo dropped to one knee, thrust his hanbō forward between Kisuke’s legs, and hooked it around.

Kisuke lifted the opposite foot, changing the point where their weight pivoted, and instead of pulling the blond over backwards as he’d expected, Ichigo found himself being rolled forward. His head struck the mat, and he released one hand from the hanbō, bracing his weight until he could spring back up, and re-balance several feet from the blond.

He looked at Kisuke, and other than his hair being ruffled he looked as if nothing had touched him.  His pupils were large and dark, and his face was unnaturally still, and Ichigo felt his breath catch with a desire to force a response from him.

“My dad had some interesting things to say about you,” he said, lunging forward in a set of flurried strikes.  Head, blocked, arm, blocked, leg, strike, but it left him open for a return rib strike that stole the air from the room and left him seeing stars. 

“Did he now?” Kisuke stepped out of range and cross-stepped around the perimeter of the mat. “Is that what’s upset you?”

Ichigo charged again, his speed enough this time to allow him to catch Kisuke a glancing blow to the side of the head, but after that it was all he could do to block the return attacks. He recognized one of the strikes used as the same one Kisuke had used at the coffee shop, his cane being an almost perfect hanbō analog, and Ichigo was certain that was no coincidence.

“Well, I have to say that even though I didn’t really understand why I was brought under the Onmisukido’s umbrella, knowing that the only reason I’m here is because it makes me easier to babysit is pretty hard to swallow.”

Kisuke’s eyes never left his hands, watching every move Ichigo made with the staff, so he struck out with his foot, knocking the big blond off balance.  A high strike was blocked, and low, the same.  Then as Kisuke rounded, Ichigo slipped his hanbō between his bicep and his neck, levering the blond forward and down, down, down.  Just as his knees would have to bend, though, Kisuke countered.  He dropped to his belly, displacing the hanbō, and twisted.  The impact on the back of his neck made a terrible cracking sound but the gray eyes showed no pain.  From that position it was easy to roll away from the pin, slide his staff up and knock Ichigo’s weapon up and away, leaving the redhead flailing for balance.

Kisuke didn’t bother to deny the charge.

“What did you think of Wada-kun?” he asked before dancing forward again, peppering Ichigo with strikes that were fast but low powered. 

“The kid?” Blocking took enough focus that he felt like he’d somehow lost the plot, and he wasn’t sure why the conversation had taken this turn.

“Yes,” Kisuke sounded so bored, so bland, that Ichigo wanted to punch him, anything, just to change that tone.  “Should he feel shame that someone had to step in and protect him? Should your sisters?  Should I?”

Ichigo followed now.  “It isn’t the same.”  But he knew that shame that someone else was having to protect him was part of his problem. “You could have told me.  Said something.  This whole charade just makes me a laughingstock.”

Fury burned away the embarrassment.  How could Kisuke?  All the time they spent together talking and working.  It was all a lie.

“Dad says you’re not just some R&D guy, either.  He called you Getaboshi. Said you were an assassin.”

Ichigo threw everything into his attack.  Hand over hand, strike over strike.  He blocked everything he could and sacrificed himself more than once to get a better angle of attack.  At least half of his shots found their mark, and he could hear muffled grunts as Kisuke felt the heavy weight of his anger.

“He said you were the reason my mom was killed.” Ichigo’s voice cracked on that, and the dance changed.  He felt it.

Suddenly every attack he made was turned away, every move blocked or parried.  Nothing reached the man across from him.  He was a whirlwind, gray eyes calm and unflinching, and Ichigo realized just how out-matched he had been all along.

“Your father told you many things he knew were true,” that voice was still so calm, “but he was handicapped by only knowing his own truth.” 

Kisuke’s statement caught Ichigo so by surprise that he failed to block a jab to his midsection, and he bent over sucking air.

“Your mother died swept away on a river of violence that flooded your neighborhood.  That river rose from the rains of conflict and power struggles and manipulation, and while I will not deny that I was part of the rain, I was not the river.”

Ichigo stumbled back. Kisuke let him.

He shrugged.

“As far as the rest? It is mostly true. I have been known as Getaboshi, and I have been the weapon that has ended many lives that people we have put in charge have decided the world would be better without.”  He stepped forward, dropping the tip of his hanbō, clearly trusting Ichigo not to strike him without warning. “It is not something I am proud of, nor something of which I am ashamed. It is a difficult role to play, but one that I seem to have a talent for.  However, there _are_ others who are equally talented, who haven’t my restraint, nor my willingness to question authority when orders come that seem… questionable.”

He was close enough now that Ichigo could see the blond stubble on his chin. A dim light shone through the edges of Kisuke’s hair, a silver halo around a shadowy face, and Ichigo shivered a little at the truth in that image.  He could feel heat pouring off him and wondered how someone who looked so cold could be so warm.

“The day you stood up and defended me, you changed the dynamic of a dangerous game.” Kisuke shook his head with a regretful laugh. “You also had the unfortunate timing to appear just as my superiors at the Onmitsukido had come to the conclusion that I needed a babysitter of my own.” He grinned then and Ichigo’s heart skittered. “I wasn’t joking when I said Tessai was grateful that the men that attacked me were simply subdued—not just subdued but given immediate first aid—rather than hospitalized or dead.  It is typically not in my best interests to leave targets functional.  Removing them from the equation is usually the more efficient move, and I have always prided myself on my efficiency. It has, unfortunately, led to… _disagreements_ about how I should be handled.”

Kisuke dropped the hanbō to his side like a cane, his strength and skill tucked away again behind a harmless façade, and all Ichigo could think was how wrong it looked.  He wanted the _real_ Kisuke back.

And he would fight to get him.

He swept the hanbō away with his foot and tackled the blond to the mats, their bodies slamming to the floor with enough force to wind them both.  Ichigo grabbed an ankle and twisted the long leg up and back, causing Kisuke to arch into the hold to try to dislodge him. That was his first and last mistake, because Ichigo wasn’t trying to fight.  He was trying to win. 

He released his ankle-hold, and the unexpected freedom caused the blond to buck, and Ichigo took the opportunity to slide his hand up Kisuke’s leg, past the knee and higher, twisting behind his hip and then pulling the now unresisting man into his chest until they were sitting together panting on the mats.

“Really,” Ichigo said, leaning forward and pressing their lips together fiercely, excitement buzzing through his veins. “I have my own ideas about how you should be handled.”

***

If Kisuke had thought to calculate the odds of this evening’s events, they would have been vanishingly small.  Proof that one should never count on them when things really mattered.

And strangely, Ichigo mattered.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but from his first reckless appearance, the redhead had managed to dominate his thoughts, forcing him into decisive actions he’d avoided for years, just to protect the would-be hero from the consequences of his actions.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Perhaps it was because no one else had ever tried to defend Kisuke.  Oh, Yoruichi had his back in a fight, but she would never put herself between him and an attacker.  She simply trusted him to take care of himself. Tessai would bring a building down on anyone he thought was threatening his family-by-choice, but he, too, knew Kisuke was fully capable of handling whatever danger was thrown at him.  Ichigo, though, never thought twice, never paused, never questioned…  he simply threw himself between Kisuke and danger, grinned, and somehow managed to take down assailants that would have many trained agents struggling.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Ichigo’s voice was rough with desire, and Kisuke felt it wash over him, setting his skin on fire.

“That is what I do, Kurosaki-san.”  He tilted his chin higher to give better access to the sensitive side of his neck, and Ichigo pounced on the opening, his sharp teeth dragging against the tendon there, ending in a hot open-mouthed kiss over the pulse that beat at its base.

“Ichigo.” The word was almost whispered against his skin.  “You can say it.”

Kisuke dropped his chin and peered into the amber eyes before him. “Are you certain this is what you want…  _Ichigo_?” He splayed his fingers wide and slid them slowly up the smaller man’s back, pulling them so closely together not even a beam of light could separate them. “It seems rather sudden.  After all, you were just trying to beat me to a pulp.”

Ichigo huffed, the warm air tickling Kisuke’s ear. “It may seem sudden to you, but I’ve wanted this, wanted _you_ , since the day at the coffee house.” He slid his hands into Kisuke’s collar and bared his collar bones before leaning forward and dragging a line of hot kisses down his breastbone. “So calm, so unruffled.” He bit the skin above one pectoral and Kisuke couldn’t stop the little hiss that escaped. “I wanted _to ruffle you_.”

Sitting like that with Ichigo straddling his lap, his cock hard and straining against the inside of a muscular thigh, Kisuke felt very ruffled indeed.

“I am not an easy man to deal with,” he warned. “I tend to become… exceedingly focused.”

He could already feel the obsession building in the back of his mind. The thought of having Ichigo stretched out beneath him, of spending hours exploring every dip and divot, of tasting, smelling, discovering _everything_ there was to know about him left him breathless.  Setting the experiment time and time again to see what peaks of pleasure he could bring his lover to, and then once reached, starting again, with infinite patience, climbing higher and higher until they were both exhausted, sodden, satisfied messes content to fall asleep in each other’s arms until the dawn broke and it was time to start the process over again.

“You also tend to talk to much.” Ichigo growled, sliding his hands into the shaggy blond locks at the nape of Kisuke’s neck and giving a vicious tug.

It was all the assurance he needed.

“Yoruichi?” He muttered the words as he sucked in a breath. _Yes, Kisuke?_ the voice sounded miles away even though it was echoing through his own head.

“Call the elevator.  Now.”

He swung Ichigo over his shoulder in a sloppy fireman’s carry, reaching the elevator doors just as they opened, and then placed him back on his feet.

Ichigo’s eyes were wide with surprise and something darker, hungrier, and Kisuke pinned him to the brushed chrome wall, the cool metal almost burning against his hot skin as he reached out and blindly punched the button for his floor.

Calloused fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, whether to pull him closer or to help the redhead maintain his footing he didn’t know and didn’t care.  His hands had their own mission, fingers sliding down over the rough cotton of Ichigo’s shirt, skimming along the waistband of his jeans, cupping the hardness there, squeezing just enough to wrench a whine from the man in his arms.

“Kisuke,” Ichigo rasped out his name and he squeezed a little harder. “I need…”

“I know.” He leaned down, his lips a tender counterpoint to his almost brutally insistent hand. “Just be patient.  You’re so beautiful like this.”

He alternated nips of whatever skin he could reach with long, lazy strokes of his tongue, and Ichigo groaned, digging his fingers into Kisuke’s ass, trying to pull them closer, to get more friction, but the blond refused to move.

“Bastard,” the redhead was panting now, swollen red lips parted, and Kisuke had a vivid image of Ichigo on his knees with those lips wrapped around his cock, but his technicolor fantasy was cut short as the elevator doors opened with a chime.

Ichigo pulled in a shuddering breath as his cock was released, and his head dropped forward onto Kisuke’s shoulder. Then he laughed hoarsely.

“Saved by the bell.”

 


	11. Kissing the Pain Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is almost entirely E rated. If that is not your thing, I apologize in advance and promise there is more plot to come. Please bear with me. :)
> 
> To those who DO look forward to the steamy side of things--ENJOY.

Ichigo had never actually been in Kisuke’s home.  Oh, he’d been in the lab and the library, and Kisuke had teased more than once that he was welcome to sleep on his futon, but he’d never actually crossed the threshold into his private space.  No one came here except for Tessai.

There were no doors. Kisuke’s apartment simply flowed from one area into the next, tatami counting out the spaces, each one holding one or two pieces of furniture and that was all.  When Ichigo had seen it from the labs he’d wondered if Kisuke simply never spent any time at home and that was why it was so empty.

The one space that looked lived in was the bedroom, but for now even _that_ was just a blur because every time he slowed to look around Kisuke would kiss someplace new, or pinch a hidden spot, or, God help him, murmur suggestive things in his ear before pulling him inexorably further into the apartment.

“ _Anata_ ,” Kisuke's voice promised things Ichigo had never dreamed of, “what, exactly, did the bell save you from?”

Ichigo spun in the arms holding him, reaching up to kiss the lips that were talking too much again.

“Dying from frustration.”  He bit his own lip and groaned, grinding his erection into Kisuke’s hipbone. “Or so I thought.”

He knew he was taking a chance.  Kisuke was anything but predictable.  Teasing him like this might push him into action, or he might get teased in return to within an inch of his life.

Ichigo was good either way, honestly.

Kisuke dropped his head and huffed a little laugh against his skin. Goosebumps flared out from his mouth like ripples on a lake, and Ichigo shivered through the chasing waves.

His breath was scaldingly hot, but his eyes were so cool and focused. It was the perfect combination. Ichigo wanted nothing more than the immense weight of that focus to fall entirely on him.  He’d collapse under the weight, and Kisuke would gather up the pieces and put him back together, only to shatter him again and again until you couldn’t see the whole for the cracks.

“Kisuke….” he knew he was whining, but he didn’t care.  “You promised.”

That insistent hand was back around his aching cock, pressing, stroking, and still making no move to go any further.

“I did,” he said, the very pinprick tip of his tongue drawing some arcane rune along his collarbone. “I did not, however, say how, or when.”

Ichigo turned his whine into a growl and said, “Well, I’m not going to tell you how, but it better be soon, dammit.”

The laugh returned, and the hand disappeared.

“You’re not going to tell me how?” Kisuke hmm’d. “Not even to tell _me faster, Kisuke. Harder, Kisuke. Oh my God, yes, right there. Right there.  Don’t stop. Never stop._ ”

His voice dropped an octave on the last words, breathless and panting, and Ichigo felt every synapse in his brain try to fire at once, and then burn out as the image of saying just those things as Kisuke touched him, kissed him, _fucked him into the futon_ , blocked out every other conscious thought.

He grabbed the ties holding Kisuke’s shirt together and pulled, pushing the pale green fabric aside so he could touch the smooth expanse of skin.  He trailed two fingers over each nipple, catching the pebbled flesh with the edges of his nails just hard enough to drag, but not hard enough to break the skin.

The sudden gasp from above him made him smile and repeat the action.

“So sensitive,” he said, leaning forward to mouth a hot line of kisses along Kisuke’s sternum, “I like that.”

Strong arms slid up and pinned his elbows to his sides, pushing them into his ribs with just enough force to make it clear that moving was going to cost him.

“I like it too,” he said roughly, “but right now I’d rather focus on you.”

He punctuated the statement with a kiss that was almost punishing, but Ichigo enjoyed it too much to complain.  He’d had enough experience to know what he liked, and this sharp-edged side of Kisuke ticked off every box for him.

“I’m not stopping you.” He pushed up onto his tiptoes, rising just high enough to slot his hips perfectly against the taller man’s, and slowly rubbed their cocks together. “I’m just enjoying the trip.”

Kisuke refused to play, though.  He shifted a little to pull Ichigo’s elbows a few inches back and squeezed.  The pain wasn’t extreme, but it was sharp and stole his breath.

“Now, now,” his warning words were much softer than his steely grip, “if you’re not careful you’re going to miss some of the most… important… sights…”

If he meant kisses, Ichigo was perfectly willing to never move again without direction so he wouldn’t miss them.  Deep and drugging, Kisuke used his tongue like he used the hanbō. He started with quick lunges with the tip, followed by long sweeps that allowed him to conquer every millimeter of Ichigo’s mouth, that left the redhead breathless and aching.

Slowly, they pulled apart, and Ichigo looked up into glittering gray eyes, wondering what was next.

“You taste like sweet summer melon and bitter tea.” He nuzzled the side of Ichigo’s neck and breathed in deeply. “And you smell like sunshine and violence.”  A tremor passed through Kisuke’s body and Ichigo felt his own muscles shudder in response.

They stood like that for a moment, soaking up the heat from one another, and then the blond pulled back.  He raised a finger silently to indicate Ichigo should stand still and quirked one eyebrow.

This time there was no lippy push back.  Need was in the driver’s seat, and Ichigo would follow whatever directions it took to get more of what he wanted.

Kisuke’s fingers were quick and efficient stripping Ichigo out of his jeans, never staying in one place too long, but dusting tiny teasing strokes against each centimeter of skin as he exposed it. Light drags of fingernails left pale lines behind, and then the calloused pads ghosted back over them until it felt like his skin was burning.

“Kisuke,” he said. It came out a breathless sound, barely more than the movement of his lips, and then long arms wrapped around him, and pulled him close.

“Oh anata, you fascinate me. So strong. You stand and let me touch you, so patient when you want so much more.”  Kisuke was smiling, a teasing tone underlying each word of praise, pushing, pushing, just to see what it would take to make Ichigo lose his patience after all.  His breath feathering hot and soft against Ichigo’s ear. “I think it’s time to give you more.”

He walked them across the room releasing his hold long enough to bend over and grab the futon that was folded neatly against the wall.  With an economy of movement borne from years of practice, he spread the bedding out, each flip releasing a cloud of air that smelled of sweet grass mats, eucalyptus, and Kisuke’s sandalwood soap.  Then, once everything was situated, he returned to Ichigo and shepherded him down into the blankets.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined you here.” He dropped kisses across Ichigo’s jawline, lightly tracing a path from the hollow beneath his ear to the tip of his chin. “I half-expected you to take me up on my offer to let you sleep here just to make me pay for teasing you.”

Ichigo opened his eyes wide, “Me?  Set out for revenge?” He took advantage of Kisuke’s loose hold to rear up, sliding his hands under the waistband of the green jinbei and grabbing both ass cheeks with a squeeze. “ _How_ could you think that of me?”

“Ah ha! There he is,” gray eyes glimmered in amusement, “I thought you’d gotten awfully quiet.”

Ichigo smiled and buried his head in Kisuke’s neck but didn’t release the lovely handful he still had. “I’d gotten cold waiting.”

He felt the muscles under his hands tense and Kisuke rocked his pelvis slowly against Ichigo’s.

“You don’t seem cold.” The hips moved again, twisting and rolling, pressing them tightly together so the heat of Kisuke’s cock soaked through the thin fabric separating them. “I’ll have to see what I can do to warm you back up.”

Kisuke retreated down the length of Ichigo’s body, straddling his narrow hips but never breaking contact, until he could draw down the last layer of cotton hiding him from sight.  Ichigo lifted his hips a little to let his boxer briefs be pulled off, and gasped as the cooler air of the room wrapped around his aching length.

His cock was flushed and shiny with pre-come, the tip a glistening testament to hunger, his balls drawn up tight in need. He couldn’t feel embarrassed, though, because he could see the echoing hunger in Kisuke’s gaze.

If the room was cold, Kisuke’s mouth was an oven.  He opened his lips just wide enough for his breath to escape, the heat brushing against Ichigo’s sensitive glans in rhythm with their breathing, and it was almost more than he could do to resist arching up and slamming himself past those taunting lips.

“Fuck, Kisuke,” he panted, “I can’t…”

“Isn’t that warm enough?” Almost before the words were out, he claimed the tip of Ichigo’s cock with his tongue, sliding wetly along the ridged edge. He circled under the rim of the head starting at one point and traversed a perfect path around the circumference until he reached the beginning, switched directions, and proceeded to tease the skin along the opposite path.

Ichigo could hear himself in the silent room, huffs of breath and moans that could have been either pain or pleasure, but he didn’t care.  He reached up and lightly threaded his fingers through Kisuke’s hair, gently encouraging him to take more of him, asking for more without insisting.  It wasn’t like Kisuke was likely to cooperate anyway.

“Mmmm…” the sound vibrated through his cock to his spine and up into his brain causing his thought processes to short out. “You like that.”

“What idiot wouldn’t,” he said, managing to find his voice. “You’re barely touching me and I feel like I’m on fire.”

Kisuke smiled and Ichigo felt it against his skin.

“You were the one who said you were cold.  I’m just trying to help.”

 _Help?_ Ichigo thought.   _He’s going to help me right out of my skin at this rate._

The teasing mouth quieted and he felt Kisuke’s tongue make the slow journey from the tip of his shaft to the base, drawing a razor-sharp path of wetness down his length, and another wave of shivers wracked his body as the cool air hit it. He writhed against the sensation, grinding his ass into the futon, trying desperately not to give in to the temptation to grab the blond and fuck his face.

Kisuke laughed. “You have more restraint than I gave you credit for.”

“Do you want me to choke you with my cock?  Because this is how you make me want to choke you with my cock.” Self-preservation had no place in Ichigo’s brain.  He wanted contact—mouth, lips, teeth, hands, cock, anything—and if pushing was the only way to get Kisuke to give it to him, he’d push. He growled and fisted his hands in the fluffy blanket. “Either get on with it or take your clothes off so I can.”

Silver eyes glittered up at him from where Kisuke was kneeling between his legs.  “My, my, you are a bossy bottom, aren’t you?”

“Bottom, top, sideways…  don’t care.” He panted around the words as lips finally wrapped fully around him. “Just want you.  You feel so… _good_.”

Kisuke didn’t answer and Ichigo didn’t care.  His entire world had shrunk to the feeling of the man kneeling over him, sucking long smooth pulls of his cock, the warmest wettest velvet dragging across him.  Then added to the mix was a long cool finger, gently teasing the skin between the base of his cock and his balls, dragging lower, dividing them so he could play and tug on each one, before wrapping his hand loosely around the whole sac squeezing lightly.

“Nnnngh,” Ichigo couldn’t restrain himself, “harder Kisuke.  Please. Just a little harder.”

The blond obliged, tightening his grip on his sensitive prize, and Ichigo keened as the almost-pain set the perfect balance to the pleasure of Kisuke’s insistent sucking.

Kisuke’s other hand crept forward and wrapped itself around the base of Ichigo’s cock.  The grip was snug enough to provide the perfect friction, but not as tight as the grip on his balls. Then he started a punishing rhythm, up with hand and down with his mouth, opposite and insistent and Ichigo could feel his climax speeding towards him like a freight train driven by a silver-eyed devil.

“Please.” He grabbed blindly at his tormentor and held on, his hips rising uncontrollably off the futon, but Kisuke never lost his focus, taking the cock in his mouth deeper and deeper as Ichigo bucked under him, until finally the blond gave one out-of-sync tug to the base of Ichigo’s sac and the dam broke.

Pulse after pulse raced through him, his come gushing into Kisuke’s mouth, his vision graying out around the edges as every sensation in his body seemed to contract into a single point and then explode in a glittering cascade of sparks behind his eyes.

He lay there trying to catch his breath and felt Kisuke pull away, returning a moment later to press his now bare body against him.

“Okay, _anata_?” The gentle teasing voice rumbled deep through Ichigo’s chest.

“Okay?” He turned his head, a boneless puddle, and smiled. “I am _spectacular_.”

Kisuke buried his head in the crease of his neck and breathed in deeply. “Indeed, you are.”

Ichigo pressed his palms into the planes of Kisuke’s sides, slowly stroking up and down along the smooth skin.  He felt like his nerves were vibrating, tiny tremors of pleasure still jolting through him every time the blond touched someplace new.

It wasn’t what he’d expected when they’d faced off in the gym, but he had no regrets.

“Turn over.”

Kisuke pulled back from where he’d been gently worrying the lobe of Ichigo’s ear with his teeth and looked down at him enquiringly.

“Are we sparring again, already?” he asked, head cocked to one side.

Ichigo shook his head and gave a playful frown. “Not unless you refuse to _turn over_.”

He could see the wheels turning in Kisuke’s head as he weighed the prospect of refusing, and he gave the blond a side-eyed warning look.

“Maybe next time,” the other man said with a final kiss dropped onto Ichigo’s lips, before rolling gracefully onto his back, clearly unembarrassed by his nakedness.

Ichigo rolled as well, rising up on his elbow so he could look down at the blond.  “Next time?”

Kisuke stretched his arms behind his head, making the muscles along his torso flex and flow, and gave him a lazy smile. “Definitely, next time.”

Ichigo shivered at the combination of threat and promise in those words and felt another wave of excitement gather in his chest.   _He wants there to be a next time._ Then, he let his gaze wander along the body beneath him.

 _Hell yeah, there’s going to be a next time_.

He grinned and Kisuke shook his head a little in mock dismay.  “I shouldn’t encourage you.”

“Too late,” the redhead said. He spread his legs and kneeled straddling Kisuke’s muscular thighs, his cock bouncing with renewing interest. “Now, you’ll just have to live with it.”

He leaned forward to place his hands on either side of Kisuke’s shoulders and rolled his hips, slotting their bodies together. His reward was a near-silent hiss of breath. “If you don’t kill me first.”

Ichigo laughed. “It would take more than this,” he rolled his hips again, “to kill you.” He leaned in and pressed their lips together, the kiss chaste in comparison to the hot slide of their bodies.

“Oh, my dear,” Kisuke whispered against his lips, silver eyes now dark as slate, “you underestimate your effect on me.”

Suddenly all he wanted in the world was to know exactly what his effect on Kisuke was. “Show me,” he whispered.

The words hung in the air between them, a magic spell to unravel them both.

He didn’t know what he expected, but the first kiss, butterfly light and exploring, still managed to surprise him and leave him breathless.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Kisuke murmured, lips still mapping Ichigo’s face, but the redhead wasn’t having it. He leaned up into the kisses, and bit at Kisuke’s lips, tugging insistently until they opened, tracing the sharp line of his teeth, savoring the taste of him before pulling back, breathless and hungry for more.

“ _Show me,”_ he insisted.

He reached a hand between them and traced up Kisuke’s length, pleased beyond pleased to feel the flesh jump under his touch, giving away his interest even if his face didn’t.

“I need to know.  Need to feel it.” He didn’t care if he sounded desperate.  He had to know that Kisuke wanted _him_ , that he wasn’t just a babysitting project, that there was something more than spy games and manipulation between them.

Kisuke must’ve seen it in his eyes, or heard it in his voice, because he nodded once, eyes dark and hooded, and then the controlled hands gave way to fiercely gripping fingers that dug into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer so that teeth and tongue could find every hidden spot that caused Ichigo to gasp and wriggle, sometimes begging for more, and harder, and sometimes whining because the sensation was too much.

In one move he wrapped an arm around Ichigo’s waist and pulled him into a full-body roll, pinning the smaller man beneath him on the futon.  Blond hair fell around his face, and Ichigo thought he looked like a depraved angel.

“Fuck Kisuke,” Ichigo swore again as sharp teeth found another sensitive spot. He was a sweaty, breathless mess, but the man hovering above him, carefully placing dark sucking kisses in places that could never be hidden, seemed unfazed.

“We’re getting to that, Ichigo-chan,” he said, pulling back to admire his handy-work. “You really do need to learn to just relax and enjoy yourself.”

Ichigo let out a choked laugh. His cock was dripping with pre-come, he ached, he was empty and wanting, and he was supposed to relax? He reached down to touch himself, to get _some_ relief, but Kisuke grabbed his wrist and twisted it just enough to stop the motion.

“Are you really that needy?” A faint smile played across his face. “I suppose I can finish my,” he licked his lips and looked down at the constellation of bruises and bitemarks he’d left across Ichigo’s body, “ _map_ later.”

The redhead shuddered, but whether at the promise of _now_ or the promise of _later_ he was unsure.

Kisuke kneeled up and reached towards a low table located beside the head of the futon, pulling the drawer open and removing a small bottle and a condom.

“How do you want to do this, anata? Hmm?” Kisuke dropped back down beside him and placed the cold foil packet over Ichigo’s belly button.

“Bastard,” Ichigo hissed and bucked up to knock the offending item away only to hiss again as Kisuke opportunistically slid his hand up the inside of his thigh to the base of his cock.

“Undeniably,” the blond was unrepentant. “But you didn’t answer me.”

His fingers slid down past the warm weight of his scrotum, around and past that no-man’s land in between balls and asshole, and then teased that tight ring as well.

“Do you want me here?” He pushed gently against the resistant flesh without breaching it, just placing enough pressure that Ichigo could feel him, warm and insistent. “Or do you want me around you?  Under you?” He lowered his head and breathed along Ichigo’s ear. “I’m… flexible.”

Just the words were almost his undoing, imagining fucking Kisuke, or being fucked by Kisuke, taking turns taking each other apart. But right then, with that impertinent finger pressing against his asshole, all he wanted was to be screwed stupid.

He grabbed the hand between his legs and squeezed the bones until he knew he had to be hurting Kisuke, and hissed, “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to find one of those hanbō from earlier and shove it so far up your ass you won’t be able to tilt your chin down.”

“Kinky,” was all Kisuke said.  His fingers, though, were saying much more.

The click of the lid of the bottle was sharp against the soft background of breathing in the room, and while the liquid was cold, it couldn’t cool the fever burning through him.  Kisuke’s fingers danced against his entrance, a pas de deux of one and then two, pushing past the ring of resistance until he could twist them, the thrust and drag wringing a gasping groan from Ichigo’s throat.

The fingers alternated between slow and steady and twisting and teasing, edging along the sensitive spot that would scatter white across his vision, but never quite fully touching it, and Ichigo knew that if he didn’t make Kisuke _move_ he was going to lose his mind.

“Oh God, Kisuke, please,” he fisted his hands in the blankets and tried not to thrash against the fingers that pinned him so close to what he wanted but still _so…  fucking…  far_.

Apparently deciding the pre-game warm-up was done, Kisuke slipped his fingers out after a final thrust and drag right over Ichigo’s prostate, wrenching a strangled yelp from the man beneath him, before grabbing the offensive foil packet from earlier and ripping it open.

Ichigo was half-distracted by the sight of Kisuke unrolling the condom over his glistening cock, when a random thought occurred.

“We didn’t use one of those before, when you…” he sucked in a breath as Kisuke dropped his full weight on him, nudging his now dressed tip against hard against him.

“ _When I sucked your cock_?” The words sent a shiver through Ichigo. He’d never heard Kisuke use that kind of language, but he couldn’t deny that he really, really liked it.

“Yeah,” he said. His own language skills were devolving by the second as Kisuke slowly rocked back and forth teasing his asshole, pressing and retreating in an almost hypnotic motion.

“One of the benefits of having Yoruichi around is I have access to all the personnel files, including yours.” Kisuke gave a little smile and a sharp rock of his hips. “You, however, don’t have that advantage, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

With that he stopped teasing and lifted Ichigo a few inches off the futon, pulled his hips forward, holding him still as he lined up his cock and pressed inexorably forward, until the slick stretch of muscle finally gave way and allowed him inside.

Kisuke rocked forward, his rhythm tortuously slow, allowing Ichigo to feel each inch as it filled him.  It was incredible, leaving him stretched and yearning, each place where they touched a white-hot spark that threatened to burn them both to the ground.

The fingers on his hips gripped tighter. “Is this what you wanted, Ichigo?” The words could have been teasing, but they sounded serious.

“Oh God, yes,” he hissed, gasping as the blond lifted his legs higher, bending Ichigo at the waist so he could seat himself completely. Then with a quick snap of his hips Kisuke drove deep against that bundle of nerves he’d so far avoided, holding his cock there, grinding against it in tortuous little circles that drove the breath from Ichigo’s lungs and every thought but Kisuke from his head.

The blond pulled out, achingly slowly, and then thrust back in, again and again, the dull slap of skin on skin running counterpoint to the sharp pleasure flooding through Ichigo’s system. Held hostage there against Kisuke’s shoulders, long pale fingers pinning his thighs in place, all he could do was watch and feel as his muscles trembled, and his cock leaked, he just _wanted_ . He wanted _everything_.

“Yes,” the whisper came from somewhere above him, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure coiled in his belly, “You’ll get it. Just hold on. Just a little longer.”

Kisuke dropped a hand to Ichigo’s dripping length, catching a palm-full of slickness and wrapping his shiny fingers into a fist around him. The redhead longed to fuck up into that fist, to rock down onto the cock in his ass, to beg and plead until Kisuke dragged him into the headlong crash down through his orgasm, but he couldn’t.  Kisuke’s grip was unrelenting, slowly stroking, giving just enough pressure to push him higher and higher until he could almost reach the precipice, but never quite making it.

“That’s it,” the whisper was louder now. “Almost there now.”

Kisuke’s eyes glittered down at him, and red tinged his cheekbones. “I’m going to make you come apart for me.”

He angled his hips and snapped them forward hard. Once, twice, again and again, each time causing a cascade of stars to explode behind Ichigo’s eyes, until finally he twisted his wrist and stroked the cock in his grip until Ichigo cried out and came all over Kisuke’s hand, their stomachs, his own legs, and anything else that happened to be in the blast radius.

Something moved in Kisuke’s eyes, a deep hunger suddenly satisfied, and he loosened the leash he had on his own need. He pumped faster and harder into Ichigo with a muttered, “So good. So close. Yes. Yee-essss…” before thrusting deep into Ichigo a final time, his own climax slamming through him, and they fell together into a boneless heap upon the futon.

They lay like that, content in each other’s arms, until stickiness and discomfort got the better of them. They adjourned to Kisuke’s shower where they washed themselves, occasionally reaching out to touch one another, still a little dumbstruck by what they’d done. Then, back on the futon with another hastily grabbed set of blankets, they spoke quietly in the darkness.

“You’re not, you know,” Kisuke said quietly, and Ichigo rolled onto his side to watch him in the low light.

“Not what?” he asked.

“A babysitting job.” Kisuke leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Ichigo’s still swollen lips. “Even in the beginning you were more than that.  Now…” he gave an almost shrug. “Now you’re more.”

Ichigo returned the kiss, gently brushing damp blond hair back from Kisuke’s face, and nodding.

“So are you.”

 


	12. Protecting the Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to your regularly scheduled, actually plot filled, story. :)

Part Twelve

Protecting the Pack

The pachinko parlor was dark and quiet.  Anyone looking in from the street would think it was empty, but the locals knew better, and knew better than to comment.

“It was terrible, just terrible.” Mahjong tiles clicked in the background, and Kisuke wondered whether the players in the back room were there to put him at ease, or to remind him that even having a room full of witnesses wouldn’t keep him safe if Mamushi decided it was not to be so. “And with one of my pets, no less. It’s almost as if someone was trying to send a message—the question being, was it a message for Okura-san, or a message for me?”

A tattooed hand reached out and poured whiskey into Kisuke’s glass. The blond had brought a bottle as befitted a guest in Mamushi’s house, but he would never be so rude as to pour his own. “But we both know Okura-san tends to underestimate the importance of self-preservation when he sets himself upon a particularly focused path. It isn’t a surprise that he overlooked the threat.  He has always believed he was the most dangerous animal in the room. It was a misconception that was bound to bite him sooner or later.”

Mamushi sipped his own drink and clicked his tongue in disapproval. If it weren’t for the scars on his face and the tattoos covering his arms, he would look like a disapproving uncle.  As it was, he looked like exactly what he was. Deadly.

“I hope he has learned his lesson.” Black eyes focused on Kisuke. “I would hate for someone to get the wrong impression. My poor pets have a bad enough reputation as it is.”

And there it was: a warning not to drag Mamushi into his business again. He’d be a fool to ignore it, but time would determine how things played out.  Perhaps he could sweeten the man’s disposition, though, just in case.

“I’m sure he has, Koyama-sama.”  Kisuke made a sound in his throat. “Another mistake like that could be deadly, and while Okura-san may not always have the strongest sense of self-preservation, I think after this close a call he will understand the need to be extra careful.”

His whiskey was almost gone, but Kisuke didn’t put his glass down.  He swirled the amber liquid slowly. “I did hear he refused to remain under a doctor’s care.  Already back to work, and on such clever things, too! One of the people he recently hired came straight from one of the United States’ finest computer science programs.  They say Taka-chan recruited him right out from under his own government! It is impressive, even though it is rather depressing to know that there is so little loyalty to one’s own people these days.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a panda shaped thumb drive and slid it silently across the table. “I think loyalty is supremely important, don’t you Koyama-sama?”

The panda disappeared with a quick flash of fingers.

“It is amazing what people can do with computers.” The old man nodded his head sagely. “My grandson is studying them at the University of Tokyo.  _ He _ intends to come back and work with his father. He has made the family very proud.”

Kisuke saluted the news with his glass. “Knowledge is almost as important as loyalty. You are lucky to have his intelligence, and your grandson is lucky to have such a supportive family.”

Koyama gave a wily smile.  “He is the epitome of the Japanese businessman. Not just some bakecho. Smart. He’s free from the bouhaijoukou, but he will be as dangerous in the boardroom as any of my family has ever been outside of it.”

“The news loves to report on the death of the Yakuza, Urahara-san, but they have forgotten one important thing.  Evolution. Everything that lives, changes. Family and history are important, but survival is what truly matters, and he is a survivor. He may never wear these tattoos, but he is still  _ my grandson _ .

The whiskey bottle reappeared, and refilled both glasses.

“Okura-san believes that the new ways will sweep away the old, and in some ways he is right. In others, though, he is being short-sighted and running the risk of again being bitten by the snake he doesn’t bother to look for.”  The old man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It is a pity he has forgotten the lessons of his sensei. He would do well to accept his place in the larger scheme of things.”

Kisuke couldn’t help but agree.  Taka-chan never accepted his place in the world.  Never accepted anyone telling him where to stand, or what to do.  Failure had been enough of a stranger to him that in the end he was like a child who felt betrayed that the stove had burned him.  Every criticism was personal, and every debt had to be repaid with interest.

“Okura-san is undergoing his own evolution, Koyama-sama.  It will take time to see how he will answer the challenges posed to him.”

He sighed like a tired father.  “Answers are never easy. They always lead to bigger questions, and the cycle starts all over again.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the ivory clicking of tiles the only reminder that they weren’t alone in the world, but there was still work to be done.

“Since your grandson is studying computers, maybe you could ask him a question for me.” Kisuke glanced back at the men in the next room. Four of them were armed. Two were clearly listening in on their boss. One was fiddling with his phone, which could be anything, but was probably him trying to record the meeting. “You remember my friend Tsukibishi-san?  He was telling me about something called data scrubbing the other day. I must admit, it was a bit beyond me, but the one thing I kept thinking was… if someone could create a tool so they could go into files full of data and make sure something  _ is _ included, or  _ isn’t  _ included…  what is to keep them from putting in information that is simply fiction?  Could they just change them? I mean it just makes sense to think that if someone could write a program that did  _ one _ of those things…  they could write a program that did the  _ other _ .”

He gave a light-hearted shrug.  “But I suppose that’s what Okura-san’s highly paid recruits from the USA are here to stop, hmmm? I’m sure they can make sure that everyone’s data remains safe.”

The old yakuza boss froze for a second with his glass halfway to his lips.

“Stop? Yes. It would be very good of them to make sure of that.  I mean, a tool like that could cause trouble,” he said, eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. “Someone might end up paying their laundry bill twice.”

Kisuke nodded. “And while the washerwoman might be pleased, the butcher,” he swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and looked solemnly across the table, “would be very disappointed.”

Both glasses settled back to the table. Kisuke looked at the yakuza boss and wondered once again how he’d managed to get into a position where protecting the old gangster’s interests was the best of his choices. But, as long as the gangs were more useful and less noticeable than Tessai and his troops, he would play this game. Anyway, there were just some things the Director didn’t need to be involved in. Like protecting the Kurosakis.

He let the data manipulation concept linger between them for a moment and then spoke again.  “If someone were to alter a business’s records, it could cause some embarrassing mistakes. One might lose enough face that one couldn’t even  _ stay _ in business.  That that would be most unfortunate.”

Koyama’s fingers lightly touched the pocket where he’d stashed the thumb drive.

“Most unfortunate,” he agreed. “Luckily, good businesses develop good relationships, and the trust between them protects them both.”

“It does, indeed, Koyama-sama,” the blond nodded, satisfied that his message had been received loud and clear. “It does indeed.”

***

Ichigo watched the darkened windows of the pachinko parlor and fumed.

Everyone living within a five-mile radius knew this wasn’t just Inagawa-kai territory. This area belonged to Mamushi, and he was worse than the Kumichō when it came to keeping unwanted visitors away.  That didn’t matter to Kisuke, though. He just waltzed through the front door like he owned the place.

_ I’m going to beat him with his own cane when he gets out of there. _

He didn’t know why it made his skin itch.  Kisuke could take care of himself, but something about the situation was just  _ wrong _ .  He’d been watching the doors for almost an hour, sipping his lemonade and pretending to read under the little summer awning behind the bus stop, but it was getting darker, and he was going to have to move soon or become much too obvious in his stalking.

Like the man across the street.

A few minutes after Ichigo had arrived, he’d noticed him standing carefully carelessly at the corner.  He wandered into the convenience store a few times—never for more than a minute or two—and then resettled himself where he could watch the pachinko parlor doors.

“Hey hey, writer man,” a voice at his elbow startled him and he jerked his head around, his hand half-raised to defend himself before he could stop himself. “You don’t need to worry about Getaboshi.  Boss knows he’s cool. Door’s always open for Sandal Hat.”

Unsurprisingly, the words of comfort didn’t help, coming as they did from someone Ichigo recognized from the neighborhood as one of the Kumichō’s strong arms.

“Thanks for the word, but I’m not worried,” he said.  Both of them knew he was lying, but still, he had to save a little face. “Just making sure that no one else is poking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He jerked his chin in the direction of the man on the corner.  “Some folks just don’t seem to belong around here, ne?”

The laugh that escaped the muscle man next to him sounded like air leaking from a balloon.

“Him?” The thug sneered. “He been sneaking around for weeks.  Thinks he’s slick but he smells like warehouse. Tagged him early, though, so it’s easier to let him be. Not like pulling him in will stop them watching.  This way we don’t have to work at watching them back.”

Ichigo refused an offered cigarette and nodded his understanding, but wondering what  _ smells like warehouse _ meant.

The redhead stared for a moment at the man next to him, bothered by a familiarity he couldn’t place. “Do you have a younger brother?”

The wheezing laugh escaped again.

“Wondered if you’d remember,” his new friend nodded. “You broke Koito-chan’s nose last year.  He invited you to join the business, and then wouldn’t take your  _ not-interested _ gracefully, so you made sure he got the message another way.”

That explained it.  Masuda Koito had been in his class in middle school before joining one of the enforcer teams that worked the neighborhood. This guy looked just like Koito would in another five years.  Bigger, meaner, and a whole lot more confident. Luckily he also looked like he didn’t hold any grudges.

“Hope it didn’t cause him any trouble,” he said, but the bigger man just smiled around his cigarette.

“He looks better now, anyway.  Too baby-faced before.”

Ichigo didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded, and looked back over to the pachinko parlor.  Nothing had changed.

“So, Masuda-san,” he asked. “You watching me, or you watching the shop?”

The cigarette shifted, and then a shoulder raised briefly. “You. Just a little added security. Gotta make sure Koguma stays out of trouble, you know?”

Ichigo knew.  All the people in the neighborhood knew his dad and the crescent-moon shaped scar that he’d gotten across his chest when he’d waded into a yakuza turf-war and walked out not only having stopped the worst of the fighting but having saved the life of one of the Inagawa-kai’s favored sons.  Shinobu-san said the scar made him look like a moon bear, and from that point on the Kurosakis were known as Tsukinowaguma and his cubs.

“Koguma, huh?” He snorted. _ Little bear _ . Great. “What does that make my sisters?”

Masuda grinned and pinched out his cigarette, sticking the butt in his pocket. “Don’t tell them, but Rilakkuma and Tarepanda. The guys can’t agree on which one is which, though.”

_ Not tell them? _ Ichigo thought.   _ I’m going to buy two plushies and put name tags on them. _

It almost made Koguma worth it.

“Warehouse is on the move.” Masuda straightened and looked towards where the other watcher stood. “You following or staying put?”

Ichigo was torn.  He wanted to stay and make sure Kisuke was safe, but he knew Masuda and his kind. If he said no one had a beef with the blond then it was true.  Mamushi’s men wouldn’t hesitate to declare someone persona non grata, and they were oddly honest for thugs.

He slipped his book back into his bag and tucked away his lemonade bottle.

“I think I’m going for a walk.” He rolled his shoulders and gave Masuda an innocent look.  “I hear the warehouse district is very photogenic at twilight.”

The older man had his phone out and was texting rapidly. 

“You want me to have them tell Sandal Hat where you’re heading?”

Ichigo thought it was likely that everything he owned now had trackers hidden in it, but that didn’t matter.  If he was going to be pissed when Kisuke kept him out of the loop, it would be the height of hypocrisy to do the same.

“Yeah,” he sighed.  He felt like he was checking in with Isshin before heading off with his friends. This was so not cool. “You might as well.”

***

The man who’d been playing with his phone rose from his chair and made his way over to Kisuke and Mamushi.

“Excuse me, Boss,” he bowed to them and held up his phone. “You said you wanted to be kept informed.  Masuda-san says the target is on the move. He is going to follow him and see where he goes. Plus, he says he’s got company.”

The older man gave Kisuke a wily little smile and finished the last of his whiskey.

“Don’t tell me Koguma-chan is accompanying him?” he said, the smile spreading wider.

“Yes, and he asked us to pass the information along to Urahara-san.” With that he gave Kisuke a little bow of acknowledgement, before turning back to his boss. “They will check in as soon as they know anything useful.”

Mamushi let out a creaking laugh. “Your new protégé would have made an excellent addition to the Inagawa-kai, Urahara-san.  It is too bad that the things that would have made him so successful are the very things that will prevent him from ever accepting that role.”

“Koguma-chan?” Kisuke sighed. “He strikes me more as a fox kit, like his mother. Either way, I thought he had a little more restraint than to wander off with strangers, but I suppose enthusiasm trumps caution in this case.”

“Masaki-chan was a clever vixen, but he is like his father in this, I think. Either way, Koguma-chan will never turn against you.” With that judgement the older man stood and gave Kisuke a minute inclination of his head. “You might want to keep an eye on him, though.  Okura-san might not appreciate his replacement wandering into his territory.”

Kisuke started to argue with the term replacement, but he didn’t.  That was exactly what Taka would think of Ichigo, regardless of the fact that Kisuke had never allowed Taka that close, even after years of training together.

He rose and bowed low in return, indicating his appreciation and respect.

“Cub or kit, he has a talent for finding trouble.  His curiosity is almost as bad as a cat.”

The old man waved him toward the door.  “You would know, Urahara-san,” he laughed once more, and walked away into the shadowy rear of the parlor. “Tell Yoruichi-san hello for me, and that her uncle misses her.”

 


	13. Wise Foxes Understand Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me so long. I got side tracked with a few other stories, but I'm back. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> A few notes to those interested in my word play--
> 
> In Part 12 I wrote that Karin and Yuzu were called Tarepanda, and Rilakkuma, after characters created and owned by San-X. Tarepanda (たれぱんだ) is a cute panda whose name ["tare" (垂れ)] means "lazy" or "droopy" in Japanese. Rilakkuma (リラックマ, Rirakkuma) is a brown stuffed bear whose name means "Bear in a relaxed mood." They are both adorable and harmless, which is why the Yakuza keeping an eye on the Kurosaki twins can't decide who's who.
> 
> Okura is a Japanese family name that appears in the Shinsen Shōjiroku, an imperially commissioned Japanese genealogical record. The name means "large warehouse" which is where the nicknames the Yakuza use for people associated with the Okura keiretsu come from.
> 
> Now on with the show!

Ichigo didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not when he realized that calling the guy they were following "warehouse" had nothing to do with warehouses.

“So, who is this guy?” he asked, finally.

Masuda-san tilted his head down and looked at him over the edge of his sunglasses. “You yanking my chain, Koguma-chan?  Not nice after I let you come along and everything.”

Ichigo snorted and shook his head. “No.  As much as I’d like to know what the hell is going on, I am honestly clueless.  What’s the deal with the nickname?  This is clearly not a warehouse.”

They were standing in front of a gleaming white office building, its mirrored windows shining in the evening sun like coral colored stained glass.

The yakuza gave him a sympathetic look.  “I guess it makes sense.  Getaboshi-san is as bad as the boss about keeping secrets.  Worse probably.”

He pulled his cigarettes out and lit one as he moved to stand in the shade of a well-pruned boxwood hedge, offering one to Ichigo again, like he couldn’t believe anyone would actually pass up the opportunity to smoke. 

“The guy we were following works for Okura Kagetaka.  He’s low-level muscle from what we can tell, but with Okura it’s hard to be sure.  They don’t leak much, and what you _do_ find out is misleading about half the time.  Getaboshi-san taught him well.”

Ichigo froze. “Taught him well?”

Masuda-san huffed. “Shit, you weren’t kidding.  I thought you might be messing around a little, but he hasn’t told you anything, has he?” The older man took a long drag off his cigarette and frowned. “Guess he thinks the less you know the easier it’d be to keep you out of trouble.  He doesn’t know you very well, does he?”

Ichigo ground his teeth and stared at the white building. “No.  No, he doesn’t.”

 _He was going to learn, though_. 

“Okura-san used to be Onmitsukido.  Getaboshi-san brought him in when he was just a kid. Seventeen or eighteen I think, but again…  this stuff isn’t exactly talked about.  They had a falling out years ago. No one knows why.  My guess is Okura-san got a little greedier than Getaboshi-san was willing to tolerate.”

Ichigo frowned. “Greedier?”

The yakuza shrugged. “You get good enough at certain skill set you think rules don’t apply to you anymore.”

That was…  unsettling.  From what he knew of Kisuke’s skill set, having that let loose would seriously wreak havoc.

“If that’s true, how come I haven’t heard of this guy before?”

Masuda-san looked at him like he wasn’t sure he’d heard the question right. “Uh,” he shook his head, “had you ever heard of Getaboshi-san? It isn’t in their best interests to be well known.”

Ichigo sucked air in through his teeth.  He should have realized that.  Being a cop’s kid, he had a tendency to believe he knew more than the average citizen, but the Onmitsukido was a whole different ball game.

“I guess I have a lot to…” he stopped mid-sentence as the yakuza stepped closer and waved his hand in a _shut-up_ movement.

A tiny woman in a black pantsuit was crossing the parking lot towards them, and Ichigo was certain she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life.

“Watch yourself, Koguma-chan.” Masuda whispered. “This one bites.”

It took her a minute to cross the distance, the setting sun casting a golden halo around her, and Ichigo could see the physical awareness in her movements, the gliding steps she took better suited to a dojo than the high heels she wore that would still probably only bring her up to his shoulder.

She stopped squarely in front of the two men and gave them a preposterously low bow.

“Kurosaki-san,” she said his name as if she’d known him forever, “what a pleasure it is to see you.  I must admit that Okura-sama was not immediately available, but as soon as we realized that you’d arrived we notified him, and he is on his way. He apologizes for keeping you waiting and requests that you come inside and wait for him in comfort.”

She smiled a not-smile. “He was most insistent.”

Masuda gave the woman a brief bow and turned back to Ichigo. “You want me to come in with you, boss, or should I head back?”

Boss?  Well, he could work with that.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Masuda-san,” he bowed more deeply to the woman than his companion had. “Now that I’m here, there’s no need for you to stay. Tell Mamushi I appreciate your assistance, and that if there’s anything I can do to return the favor, let me know.”

The yakuza nodded and bowed his goodbye. “No problem, boss.  I’ll pass the word along.”

He tossed a final half-bow to the woman, sucked the cigarette down to its filter and headed back the way they’d come.  Ichigo figured he’d wait until he was out of sight before he called his boss, and then, if things went the way he expected, Kisuke would be told as well.

And didn’t that just fuck all? Caught spying by two people at once. It was a record of incompetence even for him.

“I appreciate the invitation,” he left the space open and good manners forced her to introduce herself.

“I beg your pardon, Kurosaki-san,” she said. “I am Maki Hideko. I am Okura-dono’s _shitsuji_.” When Ichigo did a double-take at the term, she gave a slightly more sincere version of her earlier smile.

“I’ve never met a butler before,” Ichigo said, his curiosity piqued. “I’m assuming that you do more than answer the door for him.”

The woman nodded and gestured that he should precede her. “I have been with Okura-dono for several years now.  It is my honor to make things run as smoothly as possible so that he may turn his attentions to,” she cast her eyes up slightly to meet his, “more important things.”

Ichigo didn’t know whether she thought he was important or was wondering why her boss thought he was.  Either way, she was determined to keep him in her snare long enough for her boss to deal with him.  He could turn and run, but he couldn’t imagine that he was in any danger.  Masuda had been allowed to leave easily enough.

“What can you tell me about your boss?” He figured he might as well ask a few questions while he was waiting.  Even if she didn’t answer them, the way she didn’t answer them would tell him _something_.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the success of the Okura keiretsu,” she said as they pushed through the impressive front doors of the building and walked into the quiet air-conditioned space.  Ichigo didn’t disabuse her of that notion.  He didn’t think it would go over that well. “Okura-dono has built everything you see here from the ground up.  I believe that speaks for itself.”

Ichigo nodded solemnly.  “He is clearly very successful.”

“Indeed.”

The shitsuji led him into a small anteroom off the atrium.  It was Western in style, a few upholstered chairs and a table, and Ichigo dropped his bag on the polished surface carefully before turning back to his escort.

“Would it be alright if I used my computer while I wait for Okura-san?” He tried to look as harmless as possible.  If the look on Maki-san’s face was any indication, he was quite successful.

“Please, make yourself comfortable Kurosaki-san,” she bowed her agreement, “although I’m afraid we do not have a public wifi for you to use. Security issues, I’m sure you understand.”

That was the first thing he _had_ totally understood.  If what Masuda had said was true, this Okura Kagataka would have been trained to be very security conscious and letting a stranger play on your intranet was Bad Security Protocol number one.

“Absolutely.” This didn’t seem like the time to crack out the smart-ass attitude, so he bowed again. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?  Water? Tea?” Maki-san had fallen back into her service script, but Ichigo wasn’t fooled.  As he’d passed the front desk, he’d noticed the camera feeds for the room he was being kept in, and he was certain that the butler wasn’t armed in the traditional sense, but it appeared that she had something the size of his collapsible baton under the back of her jacket, so he wasn’t dealing with your typical admin.

“No thank you,” Ichigo refused. “Do you have any idea how long it might be before your boss will be here?”

A small smile crossed her face, and Ichigo felt his skin crawl a little.

“Oh, I’m certain he won’t keep you waiting.  Okura-dono is _very_ excited to finally get to meet you.” She nodded one last time and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Great. Ichigo thought. I have a stalker and they’ve never even met me.  What did I do to deserve this?

Kisuke’s face flashed through his mind and he grinned to himself _.  Oh yeah.  That’s what I did. And I intend to do it again, too._

The irreverent thoughts kept him from getting too nervous as he pulled out his phone and turned on his hotspot.

One message.  _OMW_

Ichigo smiled briefly and texted back _No hurry_ before shoving the phone back in his pocket. No sense in advertising that he was connected to the outside world any more than he already had.

He pulled out his laptop and opened his most recent document. He focused on putting the stress of the situation aside and finding that place in his head where he was in control of everything that happened. After a few minutes he could feel his heartrate slow and his breathing even out, and he smiled to himself. Worked every time.

It was that calm face that turned to the door when it opened again.

“Okura-dono will see you now.”

***

Kagetaka didn’t know what he expected.  The description of Urahara’s companion had been unusual enough to allow his men to track him down, but Kurosaki Ichigo on the page looked nothing like the young man standing in front of him.

The reports indicated an indulgent child who threw away a medical school placement to take a year off, who spent his time in coffee shops and hanging out with friends. They did not convey the predatory grace of a trained fighter, or the clearly intelligent mind behind the pretty brown eyes and dramatic orange hair.

“I appreciate your acceptance of my invitation to meet, Kurosaki-san.”

The young man raised his eyebrow a millimeter, the only indicator he gave about how little choice he was given in the decision, before bowing his head politely.  “My pleasure.”

Kagetaka chuckled, and the eyebrow was raised again, this time more noticeably.

“We both know that isn’t true, but I appreciate your politeness.  Your father would be proud.”

The eyebrow lowered and a faint line appeared between the reddish brows. “If you know anything about my father, you know that social niceties aren’t his strong suit.”

He inclined his head. “Yes. Lieutenant Kurosaki-san—he’s retired now, isn’t he? His injury was terribly unfortunate. —has quite the reputation as being, what do the Americans call it?  A straight shooter.”

It was true.  Kurosaki was never going to climb any higher than Lieutenant even if he hadn’t gotten injured.  He didn’t play politics.  He only cared about getting the job done. That wasn’t why Kagetaka had mentioned him, though. Kurosaki the younger needed to know that he was not the only piece on the board, and the sooner, the better.

“Well then,” the young man crossed to a chair, uninvited, and dropped lazily into it.  He looked at Kagetaka, taking in his suit and tie, his expensive haircut, and his pretty brown eyes lingered on his face for a moment. Kagetaka knew he was a good-looking man.  Taller than average. Better looking than Urahara in many ways. Maybe that would work to his advantage with this boy. “Since I no longer have to uphold any imaginary familial expectation, I’ll be blunt.  Why am I here?”

The older man smiled. “I was going to ask you that.  You did come here, first.”

Kurosaki stilled for a moment, and then gave an unrepentant grin. “For what it’s worth, I was following someone, and he led me here.” The redhead shifted, crossing his ankles, and Kagetaka couldn’t stop a tiny shift of his own in reaction. He frowned as Ichigo bared his teeth in a picture-perfect smile. “Before I even realized where I was, your butler had appeared and was chivvying me inside.”

“By then, I was curious.  She made it sound like you knew all about me, and as far as I know there’s no reason for you to know me at all. So…” he inspected a finger for an invisible hangnail, and then gave Kagetaka a challenging look across the polished surface of the desk.  “Here we are.”

Kagetaka chuckled.  It was a nice sound.  He’d practiced it for years.

“Clearly, I don’t know everything about you, Kurosaki-san,” he said. He cupped his injured hand with his healthy one, holding the white bandages in front of himself like a neon sign.  _Harmless._ “What I do know, is that you were caught in the middle of a conflict that wasn’t of your own making, and I simply had to apologize for the situation it has put you in.”

He pressed a button on his desk, and Maki-san silently appeared with a file.  She handed it over with a bow, carefully not looking at the other occupant of the room, and departed just as silently, leaving Kurosaki to stare after her.

“I have to say,” he said, “I’ve never known anyone with a butler before.  I would love to interview her sometime.  Research for my writing, you know.  Actual details are so hard to come by when it comes to things like that.”

Kagetaka didn’t know what to make of that.  If he was serious, maybe that type of information could be bartered with in time.

“Oh well,” the redhead turned back to him, his momentary curiosity shoved to a back burner. “I’m sure you’re not interested in my little hobby. You were going to show me something?”

He pointed to the file on the desk, and Kagetaka nodded.

“Yes. I had these drawn up after the unfortunate incident the other day.” He slid the file across the table with his uninjured hand. “I can only hope it makes a small reparation for whatever distress my employees put you through.”

Kagetaka went on. “The Okura keiretsu may not have the weight of age behind it, but I assure you, as long as I am director I will take full responsibility for any damages caused through our business practices.”

Kurosaki stared at the folder, a strange look on his face, and then reached out and pulled it to himself.

He scanned the pages quickly, clearly competent to sift through the legalese, and his eyebrows climbed higher than they’d been before.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite following.” He closed the file and looked across the table.  Kagetaka was certain that the younger man followed perfectly well, but he wasn’t about to push the issue. “This looks like a settlement for damages.  But… there were no damages. If anything, your _employees_ ,” he emphasized the word, “were the ones who were damaged.”

This was where things were likely to get sticky, so Kagetaka took his time answering.

“I don’t know if you are aware that I studied under Urahara Kisuke for a number of years.”

That got him a brief nod.  He went on.

“When I left my position at the Onmitsukido, it was the most difficult decision I’d ever had to make.  I had invested more than a third of my life to their service, but I finally realized that I could no longer stand by and watch as someone I considered a mentor broke the very rules that he’d initially taught me.  Everyone in the department knew he’d become unstable, but I had seen it firsthand.”

Kagetaka widened his eyes and gripped his bandages a little tighter, pleased when Kurosaki’s eyes were drawn to his injured hand.

“Urahara-san didn’t appreciate my decision.” He lowered his gaze and let his shoulders droop. “The week before my departure he destroyed several years’ worth of research I’d done in my personal time, citing a conflict of interest between my personal projects and my work for the Onmitsukido.  It was a serious setback for me.  I had intended to use that to start my own business once I’d gotten out.  However, it was his word against mine, and the material was gone anyway.  I let it go and moved on.”

He looked across the table and held the other man’s gaze for a solid three count.  “Urahara didn’t.”

“Over the next two years there were several ‘accidents’ in my offices where projects were suspiciously corrupted, or newly developed hardware went missing, but how could I prove his involvement?  I couldn’t.  However, the last time I managed to record video of him in our research facility stealing our most recent artificial intelligence research. That proof in hand, I contacted him and requested a meeting, hoping I could use the video as leverage to force him to return what he’d stolen.”

At this point he forced a self-deprecating laugh.  “I probably sound paranoid but working with Urahara-san taught me the necessity of it.  I sent my employees to the coffee shop that day to escort him here.  They were armed for their own protection.  They knew they were dealing with a trained assassin—I owed them that much information before they had to interact with him—and, being loyal to the Okura keiretsu, I am afraid that they were over-zealous in their roles.”

“You were never part of the equation. They assumed he had brought you along as backup, and, that since you were in Urahara-san’s company, you were as great a threat as he.” Kagetaka shook his head earnestly.  “They would never have acted the way they did otherwise.”

Kurosaki’s eyes had widened almost comically. “You mean they thought I was a thief, too?”

Kagetaka sighed and nodded. “Urahara-san has never been one to spend time with innocents.”

The redhead flopped back in his chair, his face a study of surprise.  _That had gone well,_ Kagetaka thought.

“When I found out that not only were you not a member of the Onmi, but that you had taken the time to tend to my employees’ wounds after Urahara attacked them, I felt terrible.  I was even more upset to discover that somehow the events of that day had driven Urahara to pull you closer to the Onmitsukido. I don’t know what use he hopes to put you to, but I only hope that he hasn’t treated you badly while he’s kept you there.”

He lowered his lashes and gave the redhead a small smile. “Now that I’ve met you, though, I’m less concerned. You don’t seem like the type to be taken in by fairy stories.  I’m sure that growing up with your father, you learned how to hold your own.”

Kurosaki smiled back at him and gave a little nod of satisfaction. “Yeah, being a cop’s kid, I learned all about how to spot phony setups and liars.  But, tell me something.”

“Certainly, Kurosaki-san,” Kagetaka agreed.

“Did you ever meet with Urahara after what happened at the coffee shop?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I mean… did you ever get back what he stole?”

Kagetaka shook his head and let out a tired sigh. “Unfortunately, no.  But don’t feel bad, Kurosaki-san. That opportunity was lost, but it isn’t the first time I’ve had to start over.”

The look of frustration at the injustice of the situation on the kid’s face was everything he’d hoped for. He pushed back from the table and prepared to seal the deal.

“That, however, is my problem, not yours.  So, please take the papers I gave you and have someone you trust—maybe someone with the police department?—look over them, and get back to me.  I know that you’ve been living at the Onmi headquarters, and if they have some plan to use you, I’m sure they’ve made promises about your position and your future that you’d be foolish not to consider. The Onmitsukido as a whole, is a wonderful organization and they can do great things for you.  This,” he waved at the file, “isn’t an attempt to match that.  I just want to make sure that the actions of my people haven’t cost you your freedom.  I know how Urahara works, Kurosaki-san, and I couldn’t live with myself if you, too, lost your youthful potential to him.”

 

***

Ichigo’s phone pinged and he pulled it out to see an unknown number calling. He accepted the call.

“ _Someone_ really hates your guts," he said, without preamble.

“You sound surprised by that discovery.” Kisuke’s voice sounded almost sad in his ear, and Ichigo frowned.  He shouldn’t sound like that. “Tessai-san could probably give you a list if you’d like.”

Ichigo snorted. “I’ll ask him for one the next time I see him.”

He meant it to be humorous, but they both knew there was an uncomfortable amount of truth behind it. He was tired of not knowing what was going on.  If he was going to protect his family, and Kisuke, and even the crazy Yakuza guys who kept showing up, he needed more to work with. But first he needed to do a little damage control.

“I have some questions for him anyway, but first I need to run by my old apartment.”

He didn’t explain that he was going to ditch everything he was wearing, his bag, and the file of papers.  It would be clear enough when Kisuke saw him later.  Luckily, he had backed up his manuscript that morning to an external drive.  He’d grab his old laptop to use until he could make sure nothing futuristic or funky had been done to his current machine. The phone he’d have to keep.  It would be too suspicious to ditch it, too.

Something echoed through the connection. “Will you be coming home this evening, Kurosaki-san?”

Ichigo frowned.  It was almost as if he’d heard the question twice.  He looked around suspiciously.

Kisuke was standing behind two parked cars about twenty feet away.  Geta and bucket hat were nowhere to be seen, and Ichigo admitted that if he hadn’t recognized the blue hoodie as one that had been swiped from his own closet, he probably wouldn’t have recognized him.

 _Kurosaki-san?_ Ichigo scowled at the formality. He'd make Kisuke pay for that later.

“Why don’t you order take-out,” he said, nodding once, before dodging around a little old man walking at him like he owned the sidewalk. “It’s getting late, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

 

 


	14. Chasing Tails

 

Kisuke suppressed a sigh and picked up the pizza box.  It looked like Ichigo wasn’t coming after all. 

He had to admit he was a little surprised.  He hadn’t expected Taka-chan’s brand of persuasion to work so well on the redhead, but then Ichigo didn’t have any history with the man. He looked normal enough.  Successful. An empire builder.

Unfortunately, he was also a psychopath.

Another sigh threatened. Was it really too much to ask to have one thing in his life that Okura Kagetaka couldn’t ruin?

 _Kisuke?_ Yoruichi murmured in his ear. _Ichigo just arrived downstairs._

Apparently not. The pizza box trembled a little in his hand.

He was probably heading up to his apartment.  There was no reason to expect him to…

“Oh, thank God, yes! Give me that!” Ichigo exploded through his door on a wave of kinetic energy and Kisuke spun on his heel, holding the box up to grabby hands. “I am _starving_.  This whole super spy gig takes way too much effort.”

Kisuke stepped back from the table and watched Ichigo slip into a chair at his table and inhale a slice of pizza. “Super spy gig?”

 _Your heart rate has risen ten percent._ Yoruichi said, but Kisuke ignored her. It wasn’t important. Ichigo had come.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned around the bite in his mouth and Kisuke shook his head. No one should enjoy pizza that much.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “I had a bitch of a time getting rid of the Yakuza following me. At least I think it was one of Mamushi’s men, but it could have been someone else, I guess.  Whoever it was, he stuck to me like Yuzu when she wants me to buy ice cream.”

He ate his second piece slower, apparently now convinced that it wouldn't disappear if he didn’t eat fast enough. 

“Once I lost him, I went to the gym. The cleaning guy knows me, and he let me in to call Renji from their phone.  Luckily he was studying so he didn’t mind the interruption.”

As the second piece disappeared, so did the edge of Ichigo’s frantic energy.

“He was already at the apartment, so that made the next part easier, but still.” He pushed back from the table a little. “I had to explain some of what was going on and honestly, considering how little I actually know about what’s going on, that didn’t go so well.”

He shrugged a little and didn’t meet Kisuke’s eyes, and the blond could tell he wanted to ask a thousand questions, but he wasn’t going to push.  Yet.  He wasn’t going to wait for very long, though.

“Okura-san told me to have the papers looked over, so…”

Kisuke interrupted. “I’m sorry. Papers?”

Ichigo’s eyebrows rose a fraction.  “Oh yeah.  You don’t know about that.  Huh.  I guess I’m too used to you knowing everything.”

That was a loaded statement if Kisuke'd ever heard one. It was fair, though.

“Focus, Ichigo, if you would.  What papers?”

Ichigo took an extra-large bite and stared at Kisuke challengingly, forcing him to wait while he chewed.  It had been a long time since anyone had been so openly defiant with him.  Probably since Yoruichi had left on her current mission. It was… cute.

“I am sorry, Ichigo-kun,” he bowed his head a little, quietly teasing the redhead in return, “whenever you’re ready.”

Ichigo swallowed and shook his head.  “Like I’m ever going to be ready for you.” He froze realizing what he said, and Kisuke couldn’t stop a grin from forming.  Ichigo apparently decided that ignoring it was safer than denying it, and rushed on.

“Well, Okura-san tried to convince me that you were a dangerous man who had broken in to their labs and stolen or destroyed his work.  He claimed the two men who jumped you at Como’s were over-zealous employees there to escort you to a meeting he'd arranged to try to get his property back, and they were only there as a safety precaution because you’re too dangerous to be allowed to come alone. Then he bemoaned the fact that I, a poor defenseless bystander,had been involved, and cried mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.”

“He said that since it was only because of his employees’ mistakes that I was entangled in this brouhaha, he wanted to make sure that I had the financial wherewithal to escape  your clutches, now that you’ve decided I am a useful pawn.”

He put down the remainder of his pizza slice and Kisuke moved into the kitchen to grab a napkin for him.

“Thanks.” He wiped his hands clean and looked at Kisuke.  His eyes were well-lit by the overhead lamp, and Kisuke could just see the little golden freckle that sat in the corner of one of the warm brown irises. “He gave me a settlement offer of eleven million yen to ‘cover damages’ and then a potential future position within the Okura keiretsu that would pay my tuition to med school, _when_ I decide I want to go back.”

The two men stared at each other silently for a moment.

“Then he suggested that I have someone I trust look over the papers, so I gave them to Renji.  He’ll go over them and make sure there’s nothing hidden in the legalese, like selling the guy my first-born son or something.  He seems like the type who’d do something like that.”

Kisuke felt something in his chest loosen at the words.  Ichigo hadn’t believed Taka after all.

“Children have never been Taka-chan’s currency of choice, but I learned long ago not to put anything past him.”

Ichigo snorted at that.  “Yeah, he did the whole song and dance routine with enough skill that it was clearly something he’d practiced long and hard.  Only people who have things to hide go to that much trouble.”

Kisuke wondered if _he_ was that transparent to Ichigo.  He’d practiced dissembling even longer and, arguably, to just as troublesome ends as his misguided protégé.

“Stop that.” Ichigo stood and walked the few steps into the kitchen proper, grabbing a water glass from the shelf and filling it from the tap. “You’re not the same.”

Kisuke looked at his defender and shook his head with a sad smile. “How can you be so sure, Ichigo-kun?  I am not, and I’ve lived in my own head for quite a long time.”

Ichigo rinsed the glass and placed it on the drain board. “ _That’s_ your problem.  You’ve been stuck in your head with all this crap for years.  It’s no wonder you can’t see it.”

He started putting the leftover pizza away with the economical movements of experience, and Kisuke wondered whether it was a skill he'd developed during his time raising his sisters, or from bachelor life.

“Can’t see what?” Kisuke was almost afraid to ask.

Ichigo wet a dishcloth and moved to wipe down the table. “That you’re not Dr. Frankenstein, and if this guy, Okura, _is_ a monster, he isn’t your creation.”

His face was unusually serious, the mobile lips held tightly as he stared at Kisuke, trying to make him understand.

“He didn’t tell you anything that was too far from the truth, Ichigo-kun.” He didn’t ever want Ichigo to feel like he’d lied to him. “I have broken into his offices and destroyed things.  I have thwarted him at every turn, and I have every intention of continuing to do so. I am not innocent in all this.”

Ichigo rinsed the towel and wrung it out, placing it carefully, and Kisuke could see the tension in the other man’s posture.

“The bastard knew about my dad.  My sisters.  He very carefully _didn’t_ threaten them, if you know what I mean.”  His eyes darkened and Kisuke was surprised by the depth of anger he could see there. “If you hadn’t set yourself against him, I’d be very disappointed, _anata_.”

***

Ichigo spent the next hour recounting details.  Kisuke loved details.  Luckily, Ichigo had a good memory.

“The butler was impressive. I’m pretty sure she was armed—it looked like an asp like mine, maybe the shorter version?—and even Masuda-san was careful around her.” He shook his head, remembering the Yakuza’s warning. “When a gangster says to be careful around someone, I’ve learned it’s in my best interest to listen.”

Kisuke nodded. “Not a bad lesson to learn. How long did it take you to learn it?”

Ichigo grumbled. “I learned it.  That’s what matters.”

Kisuke laughed, the first truly relaxed sound Ichigo had heard from him since he’d arrived.  “Very true.”

Ichigo had felt more than a little bit of pride when Kisuke complimented his actions after leaving Okura’s offices.  He’d half expected the blond to laugh at his gleaned-from-fiction approach to things—ditching his tail, switching computers, changing his clothes—but he’d just nodded and said, _Good, good.  Did you take a shower?_

Ichigo didn’t want to think about why he might have needed a shower; he might never leave the apartment again.

“I don’t think she touched me, but with the backpack it’s almost impossible to tell.  I wasn’t thinking about trackers or anything when I first got there, honestly.  It wasn’t until I was on the way out that I remembered how she followed me into the building rather than leading me.”

Kisuke moved to put water on for tea. “Is that why you left your bag at your old apartment?”

Ichigo nodded.  “I figured, if I wanted them to believe that I believed them—can this get any more convoluted?—I couldn’t come straight back here.  I could have gone to my dad’s, but that’s the _last_ place I want their attention focused.”

“So,” he said, taking his mug and looking over the rim at Kisuke and sipping slowly, “ _you’re_ going to need to put new trackers or sensors or whatever it is you use on my new stuff.”

Kisuke’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.  “I would normally deny such behavior in the most strenuous of terms. However, since you wouldn’t believe me and I wouldn't insult you by insisting that it was true, I will simply agree and thank you for trusting me.”

Ichigo reached across the table and squeezed Kisuke’s hand. “You’re welcome.”  He let the corner of his lip quirk up in a half-smile. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Kisuke met his gaze and then bowed his head . “I will do my best not to.”

***

 

It was late before they finished the impromptu debriefing, and Kisuke could see Ichigo’s shoulders slumping. He wasn’t accustomed to this sort of thing and as sanguine as he was pretending to be, Kisuke knew it was taking its toll.

“Kisuke?” Ichigo asked.  “This thing you stole. What was it?”

The blond twisted in his seat so he could see Ichigo better. “Taka-chan was working with me when I first came up with the idea for Yoruichi.” He laughed a little. “Maybe I’d seen too many video games, but I was convinced that I could improve upon the normal concept of a security AI. You’ve seen a little of what Yoruichi can do hooked up to a known system.  The complete version allows someone to embed her into a system on the fly so you can use your enemies’ security against them.  It then runs a scorched earth protocol cutting all contacts with the existent hardware except for those that Yoruichi is using.  It basically subverts any computerized security system, turning it into a zombie for me to use.”

“He didn’t want to stop there.  Taka thought that accessing the system during an operation wasn’t enough. He thought we should use it, attack with it remotely, and leave the original system’s owner looking guilty of an unprovoked attack.”

Kisuke stirred a little restlessly.  “He always believed that pitting targets against each other was the way to destabilize situations enough that someone could come in and take over with minimal effort.”

Ichigo stiffened a little.  “Like the yakuza turf wars?”

Kisuke nodded.  “Exactly like that.  It started small.  I think he was experimenting.  He engineered a falling out between two Onmi agents.  One was reprimanded and lost his position.  He…” Kisuke paused and tried to find the best way of explaining, “he didn’t take it well.  He figured out that Taka was behind the machinations but couldn’t prove anything.  He tried to beat a confession out of him.  Taka allowed him to do substantial damage, and then pressed charges against him.”

Ichigo frowned. “Allowed? You mean he could have stopped it?”

Kisuke nodded. “Absolutely. Taka-chan was better than anyone in the Onmi at hand to hand combat—including me. He could have ended the assault in less than a minute, but he didn’t.  He wanted the injuries as testimony. He also knew that the constant reminder of the agent’s loss of control would make everyone else uneasy. It is his gift, you see, the ability to read his opponent.  However, it is also his greatest weakness.  Once he has evaluated a situation, he becomes inflexible.  Predictable.  But never underestimate him.”

“After that, I kept a closer eye on him.  I was impressed with his ability to read situations and people, but I disliked how little he considered the consequences of his actions on others.  The Director, though, saw his indifference as an asset.  When it became clear that the local yakuza groups were choosing to organize amongst themselves against law enforcement, he sent Taka in to shake things up.  It was a perfect fit in many ways.  Taka’s mother worked in the soaplands in Nakasu. She died when he was young, and he worked his way up from the lowest ranks into a position of relative respect by the time he was in his early teens. That was when I found him and persuaded him that a life outside the yakuza would be preferable. It wasn’t hard.  He hated the men who took advantage just because they could, not because they were better, or smarter, or even stronger. He knew he was smarter than any of the people he had to bow and scrape to, and it burned.  The Director knew it, knew Taka’s hatred for the yakuza and his penchant for creating chaos, and sent him out anyway.”

Ichigo frowned. “So, you’re saying that the Director _wanted_ a turf war?”

Kisuke shrugged. “Turf war.  Assassination. Anything that would stop the gangs from working together.”

“And it didn’t matter who got hurt in the crossfire.” Ichigo rapped his knuckles on the table. “Like my mom.”

Kisuke sighed and nodded. “Like your mother. She knew the locals—some more than others—and believed that she could reason with them, but once Taka got into someone’s head, it rarely turned out well.”

Ichigo sat back and rolled his shoulders. “Sounds to me like it is time for your _Taka-chan_ to learn a lesson about messing with people’s lives.”

Kisuke gave him a sideways look.  “He isn’t _my_ Taka-chan, you know.”

Ichigo didn’t look at him. “But he was. You still call him _Taka-chan,"_ he practically spit the name out. "Clearly he means something to you.”

Kisuke moved closer and put his hand on Ichigo’s arm until he acknowledged him.

“You’re wrong, _anata_. There is nothing between us. Yes, he was interested in pursuing a relationship at one time, but it was never more than a question of politics and power, and that was not a game I have ever had the time or inclination to play.”

“As far as why I call him Taka-chan, I do it because it gets under his skin. He hates being subordinate to anyone, but at this point he _truly_ hates being beaten by me. If he had his way, I would cast aside my too-familiar ways, grovel and call him Okura-dono as he so clearly deserves, and then beg him to allow me to follow him into his brave new order where the last man standing is the only one worthy.”

Ichigo appeared mollified, but Kisuke made a mental note to try to reinforce the message when he could. The last thing he wanted was for Ichigo to think there was some twisted attraction beneath the animosity between him and _Taka-chan_.

“The only thing that Okura Kagetaka is to me is a threat that must be dealt with.” He wanted Ichigo to understand.  Needed him to understand. “I might not have created the monster, but I gave him skills that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.  So, it falls to me to make sure he doesn’t use those skills to sow more chaos.”

The redhead looked at him and slowly nodded. “I can see that.  Just don’t get too caught up in it, okay? I’ve seen you working. I don’t think moderation or perspective were subjects they taught you in spy school.”

“No,” Kisuke couldn’t muffle a laugh. “No, they weren’t.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Ichigo turned to him and raised and eyebrow.

“I wonder… was there a class in how to steal your boyfriend’s clothes? Or did that skill just come naturally?” The sparkle was back in his eyes, the dark brown shining with amber again, and Kisuke smiled.

“Oh Ichigo, do you really need to ask? It comes naturally.” He slanted a wicked grin across the table. “Plus, if I’m wearing them, you can’t be.”

Ichigo blushed. “You are so full of it…”

Kisuke stood up and started walking down the hall.  “If you want it back,” he stopped in the bedroom door, “come and take it.”

His Ichigo was never one to back down from a challenge.


	15. A Wheel Within a Wheel

Renji slid the papers across the table and stretched with a groan.

“You don’t do anything by halves, do you Kurosaki?”  He looked tired.  It almost made Ichigo feel bad for asking him to help.

“Go big or go home, right?” He gave a half-hearted smile. “But you know that.  Hell, you’re the one who taught me that.”

That brought a sparkle to the redhead’s eye. “I guess I did, didn’t I.” A half-laugh hung in the air and then the larger man leaned forward. “Now, I’m going to teach you something else.”

Ichigo cocked an eyebrow.  “Yes, Sensei?”

 “Asshole.”

“Your favorite kind.”

The redhead snorted. “You’re lucky that’s true, man.  But enough of this.  I’ll start thinking it’s foreplay.” He waggled his eyebrows and Ichigo nodded. The time for banter had passed. “You asked for my help.”

Ichigo nodded. “Tell me what you found.”

Renji leaned forward. “First of all, the contract itself is fairly straightforward. Okura outlines the grievances you could have against their employees and admits limited responsibility for them, enumerates the fair market value of damages for those responsibilities, and agrees to pay that amount if you agree to accept their limited definition of responsibility, valuation of damages, and that you will pursue no further judgments against them. The valuations are huge for the actual behaviors that are being defined as damages, but you know that.”

Ichigo nodded.  Whatever Okura’s intentions were, he wasn’t playing.  He was throwing around some serious money.  It was pocket change to someone like him, but still.

“It’s after that where things stop looking normal. There is some very serious language in here about non-disclosure, which is weird.  It isn’t like you’re going to work for them.”

He didn’t disabuse him of that notion.  He knew that somehow this was going to end up with Okura thinking he was pulling Ichigo’s strings. If he couldn’t tell anyone about it without suffering, all the better. It was all about leverage.

“They don’t want you discussing the settlement with anyone.  No one.  No how.  You sign this…  you don’t tell anyone afterwards.” Renji flipped the document open to one of the last pages and spun them towards him with a flourish. “And then… there’s this.”

Ichigo grabbed the papers and started scanning. His eyebrows rose.

“They can’t be serious.” He re-read the paragraphs in question, but his understanding didn’t change.

Renji watched his reaction and nodded.  “Yeah, I thought you might like that.  According to this, you have one week to review and sign this settlement, which will start a timer after which you will have one month to sever all ties with the Onmitsukido and its agents. If you fail to meet those deadlines, then the contract is null and void, and you will then find yourself open to litigation by Okura on behalf of its employees, since, if you don’t accept their evaluation of the situation and the damages you incurred, then you were responsible for the actions that led to the injuries received by two Okura employees during the fulfillment of their duties.”

It had already been four days since he received the settlement offer. That meant that if he didn’t sign this within three days, he was opening himself up to a ton of legal troubles.  But, on the other hand, if he did sign it, then he had a whole other world of trouble to deal with.

_Son of a bitch._

Renji let him sit and stew for a few minutes and then chuckled.

“What’s so funny, Pineapple Head,” Ichigo asked.

“Now, now,” he said, “none of that.  Not when you’re going to want to hear the rest of what I have to say.”

They eyeroll was almost audible. “Okay, then, Counselor. Dazzle me.”

Renji grinned. “I told you I was working with a visiting professor, right?”

Ichigo nodded.

“Well, it just so happens that Saito Daichi-sempai is actually a benrishi.”

“And this helps me how?” Ichigo asked.

“Well, when I was reading this section, I decided that for all this contract stuff he was the best resource I had. So, I redacted the identifying bits of the document and asked him to look it over.  According to him, this is a classic form of “unconscionable contract,” and wouldn’t stand up in court regardless of the situation leading up to it, even if you signed it.”

Ichigo’s shoulders sagged in relief.  Thank goodness for small favors.

“He did say, however, that if you intended to accept the settlement offer, that you would have a much harder fight on your hands, so take that into consideration.”

It made sense.  You wouldn’t expect a court to see a huge settlement as burdensome, even with the restrictions.

“So, you’re saying don’t sign it unless I’m willing to live by the restrictions or fight them over it, but that I shouldn’t be scared into signing if I don’t want to.”

Renji hummed. “That’s about the size of it. I will say, though, if you don’t sign it you can expect them to start making threatening noises before they realize that you’re not going to lie down and take it.  It may get ugly.”

Ichigo hated bullies. It looked like a fight either way.  He was okay with that. “Fuckers.”

The two sat like that for a few minutes.

“You’re not going to sign it, are you?” Renji asked, finally.

Ichigo grinned at him, an evil glint in his eye. “Of course, I am.”

Renji straightened the papers dramatically and shook his head.  “Poor fools have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

 

***

“I know, Dad, I know.” Ichigo tried to calm him with little success.  His blood was boiling.

“I told you when you got involved with them that this would happen, that it would bring nothing but trouble, and now you’re telling me that one of the most powerful men in Tokyo is watching me—watching your sisters! How could you do this?  If you’d just taken the med school placement instead of going off on this crazy….”

Ichigo cut him off. “I’m not getting into that again, Dad.  We’ve been over it a hundred times, and no amount of arguing is going to change what’s going on right now.”

Isshin could almost feel the steam coming out of his ears, but Ichigo was right. They had to face this danger the way he’d faced the other troubles Ichigo had brought home over the years. They survived countless run-ins with local thugs. Threats and invitations from the Yakuza.  They’d survive this.

“Are you _certain_ that the contract you signed isn’t enforceable?” he asked again.

There was no way he could pull enough strings to get Ichigo out of something like that.  He had to trust that Renji was right and this wouldn’t come back to bite them all in the ass. It relieved him to know that Renji was no fool. He had to believe that between him and his mentor they wouldn’t make that kind of mistake.

Ichigo was watching him like he expected another outburst, but he answered.

“My supervisor, Tsukabishi Tessai, gave the contract to a lawyer retained by the Onmitsukido. They confirmed what Renji said.  He also agrees with me that getting you and the girls out of the picture for a while is smart, especially if we can send you someplace Okura isn’t likely to have employees who can watch you.”

Isshin hadn’t made Lieutenant because he was stupid.  He knew that nothing would stop someone as powerful as Okura Kagetaka from keeping eyes on his family if he stayed in Karakura Town, but he was damned if he’d just sit and wait like a dog.

“Where does _Tsukabishi Tessai_ suggest we go?” he snarked.  He hated that his son had gotten involved with these people, even when faced with the truth of what they were.  Spies. Underminers. Untrustworthy bastards, all of them. Ichigo frowned and Isshin forced himself to be calm. Attacking the Onmitsukido was not the way to get his son to see reason. 

“No,” he sighed and met his son’s eyes, “really.  Where does he suggest we go? Is there someplace he knows that Okura isn’t likely to have eyes and ears?”

Ichigo’s shoulders loosened and Isshin allowed his to as well.

“Urahara-san suggested that you three take a little vacation to Okinawa. The Urasoe Tedako Festival will be happening soon, and there are tons of tourists flooding the area.  You’ll have plenty to keep you and the girls busy, and you won’t have to worry about standing out in the crowd.”

Isshin gritted his teeth at the mention of Urahara.  He knew that the man wasn’t the demon some people said he was.  There were more trained assassins working for the government than freelancing. But, like the rest of the Onmi, he toyed with people’s lives. He’d come to the house after Masaki was killed. Had offered to help with expenses, and tuition. Had even somehow managed to calm the turf war between the local gangs, but for Isshin it was too little too late.  If Urahara had that leverage, and had used it earlier, his Masaki might still be alive. It was only because the man had sworn to protect Ichigo after the catastrophe at the coffeehouse that he even tolerated the mention of him now.

“Let me guess,” he said, too tired to fight any more, “Urahara has already bought tickets for us, and arranged for a place for us to stay?”

Ichigo grinned a little lop-sidedly. “Actually, no.  I have.  I didn’t want just anyone to know what our plans were, so I used the training you gave me on shaking a tail and lost the eyes that the Onmi had on me before making the arrangements.” His eyes sparkled. “I think I may have even managed to sneak it past Kisuke…  I mean, Urahara-san.  But, with him it’s hard to tell. Once you board the Shinkansen, they’ll be able to track you, but I booked plane tickets from Tokyo to Sapporo, and from Yokohama to Taipei, as well as the ferry from Kagoshima to Okinawa. Once you get on the ferry, it’ll be clear if someone’s following you.  You’ll have a whole day’s sailing to spot them.”

Isshin watched the gleam in Ichigo’s eye and wondered…  how long had it been since he’d seen his son this enthusiastic about anything?  Certainly, never about medical school. 

“And you did all this for us?  With your own money?” he asked.

Ichigo nodded, red creeping across his cheekbones.  “You know I’ve saved everything I earned through school.  You’ve taught me to be careful with money, and after the income I’ve been getting from the Onmi, this is something I can do to try to make up for putting you and the twins in the middle of all this.”

Isshin frowned, hesitant to accept such a huge gift from his son, but he knew it was already done, and it was better to just accept graciously. As much as he hated it, he had to depend on _Getaboshi_ to keep Ichigo safe. It was his job, now, to make sure the girls were as well.

“Well, then,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “It looks like your sisters and I are going to the beach.”  He puffed out his chest. “The physical therapist says that swimming is the best exercise for my back.  I wonder how I’ll look in a bathing suit?  Your sisters will be envied by everyone that they have such a handsome father!”

Ichigo looked so pleased that he had agreed, he almost felt bad for fighting in the first place. Almost.

He took a deep breath. Urahara had better keep his promise.  If he didn’t, he would kill him himself.


	16. Counting Chickens Before They've Hatched

“What do you mean _he’s gone_?”

Kisuke turned slightly in his seat and cocked his head as he looked at Tessai. “Did the words somehow change meanings when I wasn’t paying attention?”

Tessai raised a hand before the Director could explode. “What Urahara-san is trying to say,” he said calmly, “is that after his meeting with Okura Kagetaka, Kurosaki Ichigo packed his belongings and vacated his Onmitsukido supplied apartment without leaving any contact information. He has not, as far as we’ve been able to discern, moved back into the apartment he had before the incident at the coffee house, or back into his family’s home.”

The Director frowned at Kisuke’s carelessly swinging geta, each slap of it against the bottom of his foot cranking the man’s temper another notch higher. Kisuke kept the rhythm constant, a small aggression in lieu of the larger ones he would prefer.

“I thought you said he was in danger from Okura?” The Director pinched the butt of the cigarette in his mouth and pulled a long drag from it, blowing it towards the men across the desk from him.

Kisuke stilled. “He is _still_ in danger from Okura, and it isn’t as if I could stop him.”

Kawasaki Ryō had been Director for as long as Kisuke had been in the Onmi. His methods had never changed, no matter what the world around him did, and he sneered at Kisuke’s denial.

“Sure.  And I’m Ultraman.” His lips twisted in a smirk as he sucked on his cigarette. “You brought him here to get Okura’s attention, and now that you have it you’ve sent the kid out as bait.  I didn’t think you had it in you anymore, _Getaboshi_.  It’s almost like the old days.”

Tessai shifted in his seat but didn’t say anything.

“Actually,” Kisuke said, snapping his fan open and waving it in counterpoint to his swinging sandal, “I didn’t.”  He raised an eyebrow at the man who’d become his second biggest concern. “Kurosaki signed a contract with Taka-chan that promised him more money than he’d seen in ten years as a med student or an entry level doctor and then he just…  left.  Stopping him, while probably in his best interests, would have been beyond my purview. He’d done nothing wrong, and his presence was strictly voluntary.”

The Director leaned forward and slapped his palms on his desk.  “You’re telling me that you don’t have a line on him?  He really is just gone?”

Kisuke nodded, fanning himself as he watched the red creeping up his boss’s neck.

“What is wrong with you?  Have you lost your mind?”  He was getting into full rant mode. “That kid has been running loose in the building for almost two months now.  He’s had access to your labs.  To the other agents.  And you just let him go.”

Tessai made a small sound of disagreement. “It was his right to leave.  He was…”

Kawasaki exploded.  “ _I don’t give a damn what his rights are!_ You find that bastard and you bring him back.  I don’t care if you have to dust off your shibari skills to tie him up and drag his ass back, you get him back!”

Kisuke snapped his fan shut.  “I’m not going to just kidnap an innocent off the street on a whim.”

“You will do exactly that if I tell you too, Urahara-san.” The Director’s eyes were dark and angry. “The situation with Okura is your fault, and any of this…  _all of this_ … is because you chased him away.  He had the potential to be the best agent in the Onmitsukido, and your…”

“Morals? Unwillingness to target civilians? Regard for the law?” Kisuke didn’t even look at him as he spoke, but he could hear the offended intake of breath across the desk.  _Pfft._   Kawasaki’s ego was as sensitive as Taka-chan’s.  Two insecure men with more power than sense.  It was no wonder they got along so well.

Kawasaki growled under his breath, his anger an almost palpable thing. Kisuke made a production of looking at a dry cuticle.

“Your _regard for the law_.” The words dragged over broken glass. “What a joke.  You know as well as I do that in the end you will do _exactly_ what I tell you, or I will personally give Okura Kagetaka access to you, your research, _and_ your precious little civilian.” He spat the last of the threat out like poison. “I think I could almost convince him to come back to us if I gave him that kind of welcoming present.”

Kisuke shifted in his chair and yawned delicately. “How lovely.  It finally becomes clear.  It isn’t just me you’re willing to sacrifice to get what you want.”

Tessai stood up. “Director,” his voice was aloe on a burn, soothing and bland, “I quite understand your frustration with having lost contact with Kurosaki.  Would it be appropriate for me to assign a team for surveillance of his known locations?”

Kawasaki unclenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from Kisuke.  “Surveillance to start.  Once his location is known, I want him brought in.” He bared his teeth in a shark’s smile. “For his own safety of course.”

Tessai bowed briefly to both men.  “I will get right on that, then.”

As the big man left, the Director waved a hand for him to close the door behind him, leaving him an arm’s length from Kisuke.

_It would be so easy to just break his neck_ , Kisuke thought.  It wasn’t the first time, and Kisuke was certain it wouldn’t be the last.  Other things needed his attention first, though.

“You wanted to say something else…  Director?”  He paused before the title, making his distaste clear. This man didn’t deserve his position, and Kisuke made no attempt to soften the cutting edge of his disapproval.

Yoruichi’s voice hummed in his ear.   _Only two life-signs in the room, Kisuke._   _Starting independent recording now._

Good.  Now he could get things moving without having to worry about Tessai.  No one else would be leverage in this fight.

“I did.” Kawasaki shook another cigarette out of his battered pack, trigger-calloused fingers making quick work of the action. “This thing with Okura has gotten out of hand.”

Kisuke pretended to misunderstand.  “I agree.  He has never publicly involved himself before, especially with a civilian.  Clearly he is deteriorating.”

The Director blew a cloud of blue smoke.  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.  I mean the snake.  Involving Mamushi. _You_ are the one who is deteriorating.  You crossed a line, Urahara-san.”

Not exactly the tack he was expecting, but it supported his theory that there was a direct line of communication between Kawasaki and Okura.  No one in Taka-chan’s circle would have been made privy to what happened.  He couldn’t afford for his weakness to become public knowledge.  Attacked in the security of his own center of operations?  He would never give that information out.

Except to the Director, apparently.

“Hmmm. Pillow talk, Kawasaki-kun?” He gave a prurient little grin and crossed his legs, swinging his sandal again. “You must have hidden talents. I never pegged Taka-chan for sharing his little secrets, even during his afterglow, but then I never expected him to be attracted such an older man, either.”

Kawasaki surged to his feet, his desk squalling in objection as it gouged tracks in the tiled floor. “Shut your fucking mouth and listen for once, _Ki-chan._ ” His face was purple, and he flung the lit cigarette at Kisuke, just missing his open neckline where it would have burned bare skin. “This is your last warning.  Stay away from Okura.  If you don’t—if I hear one fucking whisper about you following him, interfering with him, _delivering a fucking letter to his building_ —I will make your life short, ugly, and miserable.  And, just so we’re on the same page, consider anything that I might be able to do you to be in the cards for your little friend Kurosaki as well.”

He bared his teeth in a rictus of a grin.  “Do you understand me, _Ki-chan_? Think before you open that mouth of yours.  This is the only chance you’re going to get.”

Kisuke picked up the cigarette where it had landed in his lap and made a distasteful moue.  “You know that this,” he waved the white cylinder, “is going to be the death of you.  You should know better at your age.  I suppose, though, that they’re right. Old dogs really don’t learn new tricks, and you are definitely,” he reached across to the over-flowing ashtray on the Director’s desk and stubbed the ember out, “an _old dog_.  You’re lucky you’ve lasted in this game as long as you have.  Have you considered what you’ll do after the powers-that-be decide that they need to drag the Onmitsukido into the 21st century?  If you’re not careful they’ll just take you out behind the building and put you out of your misery.”

Silence stretched between them, the Director’s hands clenching in fury on the desktop. Kisuke made a sympathetic sound.

“Such a shame, too.  After all your years of devoted service.” He looked at the older man through the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. “Maybe you could get a job working for Taka-chan.  I’m sure he’d be happy to help you, even after you retire from the field.  Who needs contacts or leverage, hmm?  Loyalty is so much more important.”

Kawasaki scowled and jabbed a ragged-nailed finger in the air.  “You know nothing about loyalty, you bastard. I’ve watched you for fifteen years.  Always thinking you know best.  Disregarding orders.  Breaking the chain of command any time it suits you. When the time comes, I’ll be happy to sign the kill order with your name on it.  Yours, Kurosaki’s, and your little friend Shihouin.  Give me a reason, _Ki-chan_.  One reason.  I’ll drop you so fast you won’t know you’re dead until you’re dining in Yomi.”

Kisuke planted both feet squarely on the floor, facing his old mentor.  _It’s come to this_.

“Have you been to the training rooms recently, Director-san?” His voice was light.  Harmless.  “I hope that you have.  Keeping track of your subordinates’ skills is so important in these situations.  Knowing exactly what talents to match with what task.  Your newest batch of recruits is very different from the class I entered with.  Much more independently minded.  And, while they all have honed their physical skills, many of them have never even seen combat.”

Kawasaki glared, tired of the dance. 

_Finally._

Kawasaki leaned forward, a look of almost delight on his face.

“Oh, I know you’ll kill some of them.  Maybe all of them. I don’t care.  That’s the thing you never understood.  I. Don’t. Care. Plus, it has the added bonus that I know killing all those so-called innocents will destroy you _._    I will send everyone from the senior agents down to the mail boy if I must.  You are just one man.  You’ll screw up sooner or later, and I will be there to laugh as you bleed out. You with your convenient morals and your ridiculous belief that the Onmi exists for any reason but what I tell it to.  I know where all the bodies are buried.  No one will touch me.  You are out-gunned, out-classed, and out of time, _Ki-chan_.  Today is a new day.  Okura-san understands that.”

Kisuke tsked at him, rolling his eyes derisively. Such a drama queen.

“Taka-chan understands better than you do.  He understands that he has you in his pocket.  He gives you scraps of power and keeps you on a leash.  You’re his very own pet Onmi Director.  I can’t even imagine the hard-on it gives him when you two get together.  Do you always kneel for him, or is that something he reserves for blowjobs?”

Kawasaki’s rage was incandescent.  “How dare you speak to me that way? I’ll kill you myself. But first, I’ll have you court-martialed.  How’d you like to be convicted of treason, Ki-chan?  And Kurosaki, too.  You can watch yet another innocent life be destroyed because you couldn’t keep _your fucking mouth shut_.” He almost smiled, but there were too many teeth. “I’ll ruin you first, and then I’ll have you killed. Then I’ll make your body a present to your protégé so he can take it home and piss on it. I think that will pretty much guarantee my retirement, don’t you?  How’s that for a new trick, you little bitch? Hmmm?”

“Not a new trick,” Kisuke answered blandly. “Hell, not even a new family to ruin.  You had Kurosaki Masaki killed.  Taka-chan told me you approved it personally.  Something about her connections to Mamushi’s lieutenant at the time.  One of the other convenient casualties of the turf war you two engineered.”

Kawasaki dropped back into his chair and grinned. “Ah, so good of you to remember. Killing her worked even better than we’d hoped.  And now, you couldn’t have done me a bigger favor than pulling Kurosaki Ichigo into the frame.  What better reason for you to turn on your old yakuza associates than a new young lover whose mother was killed in a turf war? Your friend Shihouin won’t like you going against her dear Uncle Mamushi, so you’ll have to kill her, too. Then, once it’s come out that you, an Onmi-trained assassin, have killed them both, it will start a new turf war, but this time it will be between the Onmi and the yakuza.  The gangs will target agents everywhere, and we will be then be able to take them out with impunity.  The branches will be decimated in _weeks_ , leaving a very nice power vacuum. Then, the public—scared to death of the yakuza—will be thrilled to accept the assistance of the Okura keiretsu.  Such a respectable business, run by a retired civil servant who wants nothing more than to give back to the community that has given him so much.  In the end, you will be brought in and that will be the end of _Getaboshi_. The irony is wonderful, isn’t it?  It is practically poetic that your undoing will be the keystone of Okura-san’s success.”

“You can’t just kill me, though,” Kisuke said quietly, and Kawasaki chuckled at how much less confident he sounded.

“Oh, can’t I?” Kawasaki sat back, nicotine-stained fingers steepled.  “What if you tried to kill me?” He pulled a drawer open and laid his service pistol on the desk top. “It would be easy.  My word against yours.”

Kisuke snorted. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

Kawasaki nodded. “True.  You are a born killer.  Everyone knows that.  But that works to my advantage as well.”

The pistol disappeared back into the desk, and Kawasaki leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

“You are the greatest killer the Onmitsukido has ever trained.” His voice was oily. “No one will have any trouble believing that you managed to kill the old snake where so many others failed.  All I must do is convince them that after a decade of killing you’ve gone over the wall.  It wouldn’t be difficult. I have reams of documents proving that you have always had zero respect for the rules, and I have dozens of people willing to testify against you.  They will say anything I tell them to say.”  He lit another cigarette and dragged the smoke deeply into his lungs with a satisfied sigh.  “You’re trapped, _Ki-chan_. Even a Go master like you won’t be able to find a way out. Now, get out of my office,” the Director ordered, sneer firmly back in place. “I can’t wait until I never have to see your face again.”

Kisuke stood and stared down at the man, his face blank, before turning to leave.

“For once, something we agree on, Director,” he said.  He stopped at the door and looked back over his shoulder. “I will be happy to never see your face again.”

His lip pulled up slightly at the corner as he saw the Director’s expression fade to one of doubt.  He pulled the door open, and left, the seed of fear well planted behind him.

Yoruichi murmured in his ear. _One life sign remains in the room.  Heartrate just spiked_.

Kisuke smiled.


	17. Watched by Strange Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the fun: Kaiju/Kaijū (怪獣) actually means "strange beast" rather than just the English assumption of "giant monster." I'd bet Kisuke would identify as kaijin ((怪人--human looking monster), and Ichigo would try to beat it out of him. ;) This whole story is turning into a kaijū eiga--a story with a LOT of monsters!

 

Sweat dripped down his face, but Ichigo just swiped a rough hand across his forehead and ignored it. Running wasn’t his first choice of exercise, but he’d learned early on that being able to run away was sometimes the best of a bunch of bad choices.

His feet pounded rhythmically on the path, the repetition a comforting lull in the back of his head, but it couldn’t erase his vague sense of unease.  He’d had the half-notion that someone was following him ever since he’d gotten to the park, but he hadn’t been able to spot his tail.  That meant that Kisuke was back there somewhere keeping an eye on him, or that someone else was.  Or both.  These days he didn’t rule out anything.

“On your right.”  A pleasant female voice called out from behind him, and Ichigo pulled slightly closer to the left-hand edge of the path to let the other runner pass.  A moment later she caught up to him, long legs eating the distance, and then she was past, her long purple pony-tail swaying as she left him in the dust.

“See you around, Kurosaki-san,” she said before turning off on a side path and disappearing into the trees, a faint laugh punctuating the comment. Ichigo stopped and stared after the other runner.  _How did she know his name?_

Ichigo stayed on the main track and pushed through another half-kilometer replaying the scene.  He’d never seen her before, he’d remember that hair—the purple was almost as obnoxious as his own. And while running might not be his thing, he was no slouch. It was worth noting that she out-stripped him with no effort at all.

He sighed. Looked like another player had joined the game. But which team were they playing for? He really needed to talk to Kisuke before he let his imagination carry him away.  The downside of the writer’s brain.

Ichigo’s steps brought him back around the park to the place where the woman had passed him, and he gave in to curiosity, turning off onto the secondary path that she’d taken.  He’d avoided it initially—the last thing he needed was to make himself easier to isolate—but unless things were worse than he thought, even an agent of Okura’s would have moved on by now.

He took the first curve at speed, ready to sprint if he’d guessed wrong, but as he expected there was no one there.  The was, however, a purple flyer stabbed onto an over-hanging branch, waving gently in the breeze.

The same purple as the woman’s hair.

Ichigo jumped and grabbed the fluttering page carefully, trying not to rip it. It was a flyer for a movie revival: _Toho Month at Tachikawa Cinema Two—31 Days, 32 Kaiju!!!_ Tonight, it looked like they were showing All Monsters Attack.  Was it a coincidence that the movie included giant monsters, a boy that kept getting in over his head, and an older toy maker trying to keep him safe?  Knowing Kisuke, there was an entire conversation buried there, but that wasn’t what made Ichigo grin.  Kisuke had arranged this, which meant, Ichigo was going to get to see him.

Ichigo shoved the flyer in his pocket and headed back to the main path, a new kick in his stride.  He needed to get home and grab a shower. 

He had a date at the movies.

 

***

 

He got to the theater early and sat in the back.  It wasn’t because he was expecting anything…  it was more because he _wasn’t_ expecting anything.  What if he was wrong?  If the flyer was just a flyer, and he’d misinterpreted everything…  well, it could be worse.

All Monsters Attack wasn’t a popular Godzilla movie, so Ichigo didn’t expect the theater to be full.  As a matter of fact, with it being the middle of the week he wouldn’t be surprised if it was practically empty. If it was, he could sneak out and it he’d only have sacrificed the price of a ticket and a little pride.  Hell, he might just stay for the whole thing. The last time he’d actually seen a movie in the theater had been years ago.  The girls blackmailed him into taking them to see a princess movie, and afterwards they’d sung all the songs over ice cream as they jigged and danced through the park, high on the pink cocaine that was pure, uncut Disney.

Darkness fell and the silence of the theater was only broken by the rising tone of the sound system test.  _The audience is listening._ Ichigo snorted softly.  The audience of one. 

“Is this seat taken?”

There was a silent shuffle of feet, and then a long, lean body coiled itself into the seat beside him.  Ichigo sucked in a breath.

_Kisuke._

“Please, be my guest,” he said, ducking his head in a little bow but failing to hide the smile that split his face, “considering how crowded it is this evening.”

Kisuke looked out across the empty auditorium and nodded. “Quite the turnout.  I wasn’t expecting such a crowd on a Wednesday, although a friend of mine bet me that there’d be one fewer.  She will be quite miffed at having to pay the tab the next time we go out for drinks. I told her, though, that she was misjudging the intelligence of the audience.  _This_ movie has a special appeal, I think.”

Ichigo nodded. So, Kisuke’s purple-haired friend hadn’t thought he was smart enough to figure out the message. That rankled more than it should. Kisuke, though, knew he was. Knew it well enough to bet on him.  To count on him.  He grinned a little maliciously. It would serve her right if Kisuke ordered the most expensive sake available and then drank her under the table with it. The hangover alone would be punishment enough.

“I have to admit; I am not the kaiju expert I should be.  Something about this showing, though, jumped out at me and I couldn’t resist.”  Ichigo turned slightly in his seat and caught Kisuke’s eyes.  “I suppose that sounds a little impulsive, but I always listen to my instincts.”  He smiled. “Haven’t regretted it, yet.”

Kisuke’s eyes glittered in the low light, the gray shining almost silver, a tiny quirk raising the corner of his mouth.

“No?” He raised his long slim fingers and let them hover just under Ichigo’s chin. Ichigo stilled, breath mid-inhale, and lunged. He snapped his teeth on the tip of Kisuke’s index finger, catching it just hard enough to pinch, but not enough to hurt.  He fluttered the tip of his tongue against the calloused tip and then released it, eyes dark with intent. He shook his head once, firmly.

“Never.”

Kisuke pulled his newly freed finger back to his own lips and held it there.  “Good.  Regret is a heavy burden.”

Ichigo’s stomach clenched a little as he watched the frown on Kisuke’s face. “Almost as heavy as the burden of other people’s guilt.”

Kisuke’s eyes met his, the frown line deepening a fraction. “Other people’s guilt?”

The redhead sighed.  Sometimes he thought Kisuke’s obliviousness had to be faked, but not this time. He was just truly clueless.

“You _do_ know that you’re not responsible for other people’s choices, right?” He reached across the arm rest and placed his hand on Kisuke’s knee, dropping the playfulness from his tone.  “Not mine.  Not Okura’s. Not the Director’s. Just yours.”

Kisuke shook his head a little and covered Ichigo’s hand with his own. “Believe me, I wouldn’t…”

Ichigo cut him off.  “You would and you do.  It’s one of the things I hate about you.” The fingers on top of his twitched and he caught them before Kisuke could pull them away.  “ _And_ love about you.”

It was the truth.  The other man existed in a world where every action was a pebble thrown into already roiling rapids, destructive and overwhelming. While he couldn’t say that the outcomes were directly his fault, he couldn’t say they weren’t, either. Instead, Kisuke believed he was both cause and effect… benefit and curse.  The burden he chose to bear was immense, honor-driven… and _ridiculously_ egotistical.  How could Ichigo _not_ love it?

A look of surprise flitted across Kisuke’s face, and he smiled.

“Do you know what else I love?” Ichigo asked.  The blond shook his head briefly, a lock of hair falling to cover his eyes.  Ichigo reached up with his free hand and pushed it out of the way and leaned in, feeling the warmth of their shared breath as he--

**_Skreeeeee-ooooooonnnnnkkkkkkkk!!!!_   **

The theater walls vibrated with the sound and they both jumped at Godzilla’s roar, before sharing an embarrassed look and then breathless laughter.

“Well, I _don’t_ love thirty-story tall, lizard-monster chaperones.  What do you say we break some rules and get out of this place?” Ichigo slid to the edge of his seat, scanning the empty auditorium, and then tugging Kisuke’s hand.

Kisuke sighed.  “You are a very bad influence, _anata_.” He pulled his long legs under himself and stood.  He nodded once and the right corner of his mouth quirked up again.  Ichigo squeezed his fingers tightly, and they bolted for the exit.

 

***

 

The alley behind the theater was surprisingly clean, and unsurprisingly empty.  A faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air, and Kisuke felt almost light-headed as he dragged Ichigo further away from the building, clinging to deeper shadows even shrouded as they were in night.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something on such pure impulse.  Yes, Yoruichi had laughed at him as he’d asked her to pass his message along, but the more steps he forced between the two of them meant more safety for Ichigo. He’d chosen the movie _because_ of the anonymity of the cinema.  He wanted to ask if Ichigo’s new apartment felt safe enough, or if he was having any trouble with the locals. He wanted to see for himself that Ichigo was alright and not functioning under some sort of duress from Okura. Maybe he would get to hold Ichigo’s hands or run his fingers through that ridiculous mop of orange hair. If he were feeling the urge to fulfill the fantasies of his non-existent youth, he’d kiss the redhead until he had him writhing and breathless in the confines of his seat and then bring him off with his hands, fast and hot, the two of them hidden in the back rows, and yet still so very public.

Instead, he’d thrown the plan out the window

No wonder Yoruichi laughed.  She knew him better than he knew himself. Knew that once he was there, there would be no walking away, no letting go.  It was all he could do not to push Ichigo up against the alley wall and crawl into his skin right there and then, damn the CCTV cameras, the yakuza scouts, the Onmi agents. He wanted Ichigo more than he could remember wanting anything. It was illogical, and dangerous, and wonderful in ways that terrified Kisuke down to his very soul.

“Why’d you stop?” Ichigo looked around them, trying to see what threat Kisuke had noticed that he’d missed. “Is someone following us?”

Kisuke pulled a little harder on the hand in his, tugging Ichigo off balance just enough that when he stumbled, he could pin him against the wall.

“No one is following.” Smooth skin stretched along a graceful neck, and Kisuke pressed his lips against it, baring his teeth and ghosting them across a tightly drawn tendon, satisfaction blazing under his skin, roaring alongside a torrent of want that refused to loosen its grip on him. “Just needed to prove to myself that you’re actually here.  I’ve dreamed this too many times over the past few days to take it on faith.”

Ichigo laughed, the sound both a little giddy and a little dark around the edges. “You’ve been dreaming of me?”

Kisuke pulled back from the mark he’d sucked over the pulse point, and looked down at him, eyes shining in the half-light. “Surprised?”

The redhead swallowed hard. He splayed his fingers across Kisuke’s back, dragging his pinkies along the ridge of the waistband and dipping just under to trace across the skin below before sliding them up along the smooth planes of his back, pulling their bodies tightly together.

“Not surprised,” he said finally, voice more than half gravel. “It’s only fair.  I’ve dreamt of you, too.”

After that, there wasn’t much talking.

 

***

 

“You’re going to be caught right in the middle of his mess.” Suì-Fēng filed her nails a little harder, her frustration clear. “Don’t you care?”

Yoruichi flowed from a pelvic curl into a fully extended teaser, clearly more concerned with getting her pilates forms correct than with any trouble stirred up by Urahara Kisuke.

“I don’t know why you’re asking; you know the answer already.” Her words were as effortless as the pose she held, abdominal muscles tight, purple hair swaying from a top knot. Suì-Fēng was struck as she always was by her partner’s beauty. Some things just weren’t fair. “It’s Kisuke.  He doesn’t ask unless there’s a reason.”

 _…and that’s good enough for me._ The words were unsaid this time, but they’d been the root of enough fights between them that Suì-Fēng practically heard them in her sleep.

When they were first matched by the Onmi, Suì-Fēng thought the other woman was a joke. The favored niece of a Yakuza boss, she was spoiled terribly.  She dressed in only the flashiest brands and never denied herself for a moment when she decided that she wanted something. Suì-Fēng thought she was selfish and stupid and that her playful demeanor indicated a lack of fortitude that would only be a hindrance rather than a help on missions.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Shihōin Yoruichi might’ve looked like a super model and acted like a fucking princess, but she was, in fact, the most lethal person Suì-Fēng had ever known—including Urahara-fucking-Kisuke.  Why she still insisted on dragging that bag of disaster around with her, Suì-Fēng would never know, but her loyalty to the man was unwavering, and her determination to protect him unparalleled.

Not that Suì-Fēng was jealous. Really.

“The Director called me to come in tomorrow.” She put down the file and picked up a buffer, polishing her dainty nails to a mirror-finish.  “He said he had a new assignment for me.”  She paused.  “Just me.”

Yoruichi stretched out, her arms and legs so long that she reached almost from wall to wall in their little bedroom.  “It’ll be fine, Little One,” she said.  “The Old Man knows you’re loyal to the Onmi, and he knows, or at least he should know, that _I’m_ loyal to Kisuke.  If he’s drawing lines in the sand, you need to be on the right side, so you don’t suffer from the fallout.”

Suì-Fēng gritted her teeth.  _I’m loyal to **you**_ , she wanted to insist, but she wasn’t loyal to Urahara and that had always been the sticking point. She’d throw her career away in a heartbeat if Yoruichi hinted that it would make her happy, but Urahara…  well, Urahara could fight his own battles.

“As long as you know,” she said, putting her manicure tools away. “I might not like the man, but I wouldn’t leave you in the dark.”

Yoruichi made a little pleased sound and moved into the next pose.  “I know you wouldn’t.”

Suì-Fēng nodded silently and wished she could say the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. More to come, soon. :)

 

Two weeks. Two weeks since the visit from Urahara and his fucking snake. Two weeks of bandages and doctor’s visits and looking like a weakling who couldn’t defend his territory in front of his people. And now they were saying two _more_ weeks until he could hold a sword again. Longer until he could spar. So, he was forced to this. The gun range. A loathesome place, but a necessary evil.  His Western partners expected his people to be able to use the weapons they bought and sold, but until now Kagetaka had rarely stepped foot in it.

“Breathe, in and out. And… _Issha zetsumei_.”

Pain shot through his hand as he pulled the trigger and he forced himself not to flinch. His palm burned and the stitches pulled.  His ears rang as the report echoed off the range walls, but he refused to wear the ridiculous orange ear protection his instructor had offered. It wasn’t like he’d have be wearing them if he needed the God-damned gun, and he had to be certain he wouldn’t startle from the sound like a frightened rabbit. 

He was not prey.

He raised the gun again, and the idiot behind him hummed and repeated, “Breathe, in and out. And… _Issha zetsumei_.”

In and out.  In and out.  Like he could breathe any other way.  And _issha zetsumei_.  He _wished_ every shot was his last, but no.  Urahara Kisuke had forced him to put down his sword, but he would not be unarmed.  He still had teeth.

He raised the gun and aimed, unloading the clip rapid-fire, preventing his Zen spouting taskmaster from repeating his mantra as he filled the paper target with holes.  If he imagined them piercing a green-clad target, well, no one else need ever know.

“Your skill is improving rapidly, Okura-dono.” A young man, barely twenty-five, with a witless smile and a chipper voice led him away from the shooting lanes and towards the armory.  Who had decided that this was the best person for firearms instruction?  Surely there were more experienced, and more respectful, options. 

The Beretta in his hand weighed only two-thirds of what his katana did, but his hand ached where it curled around the handgrip and he frowned at it. He hated guns. Graceless. Thoughtless.  Weapons for brainless thugs. Anyone could pull a trigger. Even the smell was repulsive.  The armory stank of kerosene and gun oil instead of the warm clove scent of Choji oil. There was no dancing Uchiko ball renewing the mirror finish of a blade. No. Guns for all their usefulness were messes of overcomplicated nooks and crannies. Forcing one into his hand was yet another insult that Urahara would pay for.

“When I was told you wanted an instructor, I was so pleased.  To see you, Shachō, embracing a new weapon…  well, I can’t tell you how happy I was. It will go a long way to convincing the others that we need to move forward with our weaponry. The sword was our past, but this,” he patted the matte surface of the gun in his hands as he placed it on the table to be cleaned, “this is the future.”

Kagetaka stared at the young man and imagined putting a bullet between his eyes.  Would he be so pleased with his future then?

_Breathe.  In and out._   _Issha zetsumei._  

One shot and expire.

 

 


	19. The Dance of the Honey Bee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if there are enough apologies to make my gap in posting okay, but in case there are: Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. Miserere mei. 
> 
> Now that the plot has come back around for me, I'm fairly sure my posting schedule will become more regular again, and thanks so much to those of you who've stuck with me this far. :)
> 
> And now... back to the program!

The sun beat down brutally but it barely touched Suì-Fēng’s consciousness.

“Oji-san, it is so nice to see you again.” Yoruichi’s voice carried clearly through the parabolic microphone aimed in her direction, but it was the old man’s voice that Suì-Fēng needed to hear. She’d been trying to get a direct view of Mamushi all morning with no luck.  Hopefully, Yoruichi’s visit would bring the snake out of his hole.

According to the Director, the Yakuza gangs were in turmoil and Urahara was to blame.  He’d been pitting them against each other for months fomenting dissension in the ranks so that he could use the chaos as cover when he attacked Okura Kagetaka. The Onmi felt that Mamushi’s gang was the best of a bad bunch, and Kawasaki wanted to make sure they weren’t too damaged in the crossfire. That would destroy more useful connections between the government and the Yakuza than anyone could afford to lose. That meant a protection detail, and that was where Suì-Fēng came in.  Since the Onmi couldn’t allow there to be any question of loyalty issues, Yoruichi wouldn’t be involved, however the Director believed Suì-Fēng would be acceptable.  She had always been unquestioningly loyal, even when that loyalty endangered her, and she had earned the chance to protect her partner and her partner’s family—even if they were Yakuza and could take care of themselves—when the shit Urahara was stirring inevitably hit the fan.

It would have made her feel proud if she weren’t so sure that somehow she was being led around by the nose.

“I can’t believe I’m saying it, Oji-san, but I miss the noise of the pachinko machines.” Yoruichi sounded strangely sentimental wandering around the empty parlor. “I could hardly hear myself think before.”

Mamushi finally came out from where he’d been tucked away all morning. “That would imply that you stopped and thought, Yoruichi-chan.”  The voice was higher than Suì-Fēng remembered, but age often did that, and it had been years since she’d interacted with the man.  The first, and last, time Yoruichi had brought her new partner to meet the family hadn’t gone terribly well.

It hadn't been her fault.  Mostly.

“With the pachinko parlor closed I can not only hear myself think, but I could probably hear what everyone else is thinking, too.” A tinkling laugh echoed in the earpiece and Suì-Fēng could picture Yoruichi laughing.

One of Mamushi’s men pulled chairs out for them to sit and another brought a tray from the back. “Don’t try to listen to these men,” the old man let out a breath of a laugh as he settled himself, “you might find yourself embarrassed by what you hear, and then I would have to avenge your honor and we would never be able to enjoy this excellent tea.”

Yoruichi hmmm’d in agreement and for a few minutes the only sounds were the domestic noises of pouring and drinking. “I would hate to trouble you like that, Oji-san, although, I doubt that _I_ would be the one embarrassed.”

A harsh bark of laughter. “You may be right, Yoruichi-chan, but you shouldn’t admit it.  Leverage is lost that way.”

Suì-Fēng would have told the old man that Yoruichi knew that better than he did, but she just frowned.  What was her partner playing at?

“I don’t know, Oji-san,” she sounded thoughtful, “it might be worth a little embarrassment to be able to hear what everyone else was thinking.”

“A foolish gamble.  You know what you’re thinking, would you like that shared far and wide on the chance that what you’d hear from one of my helpers?  Or the noodle-shop owner next door?  Or even the owner of the laundry two streets over?  No.  It is better for you to keep your secrets and let them keep their own.  Your friend Urahara understands that, even if your partner doesn’t.”

Suì-Fēng stiffened and adjusted her grip on the microphone. Surely…

“Oh, my Little Bee understands the value of secrets,” Yoruichi moved closer to the window. “Her problem isn’t in the keeping of them, but in the gathering of them.”

Suì-Fēng looked around surreptitiously and felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine.  If she’d been spotted by the Yakuza, then this whole mission was wasted. 

“She should take lessons from the other one.  He spies with the crows and the rats and the worms in the earth.  That one can smell the poison in a wound before the knife penetrates the skin.”  The old man’s voice was heavy with disdain. “He hasn’t the honor of thieves.”

Yoruichi tch’d and there was sudden a faint tapping sound in the background. Morse code?

_C…  o… v… e… r…  y… o… u…r… e…a…_

It took her a second too long to catch on and she barely managed to rip the earphones off in time to hear a high-pitched squeal scream from the speakers at a volume that would have deafened her if she’d still been wearing them.  _Damn it, Yoruichi. What do you think you’re doing?_

Fuck it all. She’d known Suì-Fēng was listening the whole time, and if the conversation was any indicator, the old man had known, too.  No wonder she hadn’t been able to hear him earlier.  Poisonous snake in his hole.    

Take lessons from what other one?  Urahara?  No, the old man _liked_ Urahara.  He’d never accuse him of having no honor, no matter how wrong he was about that. _Getaboshi_ had thrown his honor away the first time he’d turned on the Onmi. Maybe he was he talking about Okura?

It was time to get home and transcribe her notes.  She had more questions than answers and only one place to start.

Fucking Urahara and his one-man war.

***

Mamushi was chuckling under his breath and Yoruichi couldn’t help but smile.  The man was as close to a grandfather as she’d ever had, and while their family wasn’t exactly traditional, there were some bonds that were deeper than blood.

“Did your Little Bee get stung, Yoruichi-chan?” A wrinkled hand waved, and two new cups of tea appeared as if by magic.  Sometimes it was good to be the Kumichō's favorite.

“If I know her it was a close call, but she’s quick on the uptake and even quicker to move, so the harm will not be permanent, and I will probably be forgiven with a few sweet words and a trip to the hot springs she favors.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the verbal fencing from earlier no longer necessary.

“It is good to have you back, Yoruichi-chan,” her Oji sighed.  He was old and tired, and she wished there was something she could do to help, but she’d left that path long ago. “You bring a sweet breeze to these walls.”

“It is good to see you as well, Oji-san.” She bowed her head to him, and he smiled.  He knew very few ever got that kind of acknowledgement from her, and he was proud enough to revel in it. “I am afraid, though, that my presence is a harbinger of rough weather to come.”

She knew her words weren’t a surprise, but Mamushi’s response surprised her.

“Change is never easy, Yoruichi-chan,” he shook his head, “I only hope that I am strong enough to see the other side of the storm.  The other one, the one that even the Onmi found too devious, is trying to erase the yakuza, but while our face may change, the family is strong.”

Yoruichi looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You expect a frontal assault on the yakuza?”

Mamushi shook his head no.  “Between Okura and his supporters still hiding within the Onmi it will be a political storm large enough to wash away the families, but it will creep upon us like strangling vines, harmless until their roots have taken deep root and killed everything they touch.  We will change or die.”

The old man made a gesture and the men guarding the exits disappeared leaving the two of them alone.

“I truly believe what I said about secrets.  It is better for us to keep our own than to have everyone’s known. With that in mind,” he tilted his head to one side, his bird bright eyes fixed on her, “sometimes secrets are too dangerous to keep.”

He slid a battered penguin USB drive across the table to her and she pocketed it.

“Your friend has proven his loyalty to you once again, Yoruichi-chan,” the dark eyes sparkled a little and once again Yoruichi was happy she’d introduced Kisuke to him so long ago, “please return this to him with my thanks and tell him I hope that it will be useful to him. It is a shame that he wasn’t interested in the family business.  He would have made a fine addition to it.”

It was an old fight that had matured into good-natured teasing over the years, the idea of her marrying Kisuke now too absurd for Mamushi to even playfully suggest, even without considering the difficulty of convincing the blond to work for the Yakuza directly.

“He is more useful on the outside and you know it, Oji-san.” Yoruichi rapped her knuckles on the table loudly and the guards silently reappeared with fresh tea and a tray of tiny matcha-flavored cakes. “You’d have had him murdered in his sleep the first time he questioned your intelligence or defied an order in front of your kobun.  Kisuke hasn’t earned the Director’s hatred by being a good foot-soldier you know.”

Mamushi shrugged one shoulder with an almost careless, _yes probably_ , air.  “Your Director doesn’t know how to manage him.”

Yoruichi couldn’t stop the laughter that burst tinkling from her.  “And you do, Oji-san?”

The old man smiled behind the edge of his cup.  “No, Yoruichi-chan.”  He sipped delicately. “But you do.”

She raised her cup in a salute of graceful defeat.  He wasn’t wrong.

Now, if she could just figure out if this Kurosaki Ichigo had learned how to as well.

***

Kisuke watched the action unfold from his rooftop perch with a half-frown.  Yoruichi had attended her uncle as he’d known she would, and just as predictably, Suì-Fēng had followed, waving her little spy gadgets as if they made her invisible.  Director Kawasaki would be furious with her, caught by no fewer than three yakuza watchmen, Yoruichi, and Kisuke himself.

She was good, but she wasn’t as good as she thought, and if she was the best the Director was going to send after him, the man had gotten criminally complacent.  Perhaps he didn’t really see the threat. He’d never seen Kisuke cornered before.  Never seen him pushed by the threat of losing people he cared about. 

Yoruichi was right—there was a storm coming.  It was named _Getaboshi_.

 

 


	20. Killing Two Birds With One Stone

Ichigo had been slogging away all afternoon.  His eyes burned and his fingers were considering committing mutiny, but he had to get to the end of this scene.  Coming back deal with a dead body was a bitch after you’d gotten past the high of killing them off.  Or at least it was when you were writing it.  He’d have to ask Kisuke if he wanted first-hand information. 

He tried to imagine the look on the blond’s face as he answered. Would this be one of the answer-without-even-slowing-down questions, or one of the-just-how-much-can-I-actually-explain-without-making-this-weird questions? How long would they need to have been dating for him to start that conversation?  Three months?  Would they even _get_ to three months?

Ichigo shook his head and forced away that train of thought.  _One day at a time, Kurosaki,_ he told himself. _You have to survive this mess with Okura before you start freaking out over relationship stuff_.

Plus, he needed to focus on the very real need of getting his manuscript finished.  He’d had very little time to work on it lately, but the radio silence with Kisuke was driving him crazy and work was clearly his best escape, otherwise he’d just end up pacing the apartment trying to convince himself that waiting wasn’t a waste of time. 

Kisuke was trained to deal with situations like this, or at least with people like Okura, and Ichigo knew his experiences dealing with low-level thugs didn’t qualify him for anything more than an occasional street fight; he’d long pushed past his skill parameters.

He kept telling Ichigo to wait, to stay safe, that he'd let him know when it was time to make the next move.  Maybe Ichigo had gotten to be too much of a handicap.  His position at the Onmi had never been anything but a joke to Kisuke, and now that they knew that the Director’s plan was to take the blond out of the equation one way or another, saddling him with a civilian ‘bodyguard’ was clearly meant to hobble him. Ichigo was supposed to be a distraction at best, and cannon fodder at worst. Kawasaki probably thought Kisuke’s bizarre knight-in-shining-bucket-hat routine would make him more vulnerable if he had to divide his attention between taking on Okura and protecting Ichigo. The fucker didn’t know what he’d done, though, because protecting the people he cared about was what Ichigo _did_. The fact that the Director didn’t mean for it to be real meant exactly nothing. Ichigo was going to protect Kisuke, damn it. Nothing was going to hurt him or anyone else as long as he was in the picture.

He was going to… **knock, knock, knock** _._ A quietly insistent rapping at the door broke into his mental diatribe.

He was going to answer the door, apparently.

His new apartment was technically in the same complex as the one he’d had with Renji, but it was an older building on the other side of the development, and they hadn’t gotten around to putting in much security.  Kisuke had made up for that which was good because with his family still out of town there was no one who should be visiting him.  Ichigo reached up and pressed the tiny receiver button hidden in the shaggy edges of his hair.

_One set of life signs in the hallway.  Female. Does not match any friends or family on file.  Running facial recognition subroutine._

The stripped-down version of the security AI Kisuke developed couldn’t do nearly as much as the original, but it was better than a peephole or a hackable video doorbell.

_Facial recognition hit.  Maki Hideko._

Ichigo wrestled with the name for a moment before placing it as belonging to the woman he’d met at Okura’s office building.  His _shitsuji_.

“Just a minute!” Ichigo closed down his computer and disconnected it from the wifi.  He wasn’t exactly paranoid, but he didn’t want to run any unnecessary risks. 

Once the humming stopped, he stood up from the desk, grimacing as his body groaned and popped in complaint at having been stuck in one position too long.

“If you’re from the NHK, I don’t even have a TV.  And I’m unemployed right now.” He grinned to himself at the absurdity of it, but there was no reason to let the butler know she’d been made, right?  He snagged his button-down from the back of the couch as he passed, slinging it around his shoulders as he opened the door.

“I told you,” he started, sticking with the pretense, and was gratified to see the look of consternation on the woman’s face.  “Oh!” He dropped a careless bow. “My apologies…  ah…  Maki-san…? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

She was just as beautiful as Ichigo remembered, but something about the way she was dressed implied that this might be a less formal visit than their last had been.

“Please forgive me, Kurosaki-san.” Maki bowed much deeper than Ichigo had. “I hope I am not intruding.  It’s just that…” she turned her head to one side and lowered her lashes in a move that Yuzu had categorized as _totally harmless look, number 3_ , and actually managed to blush. “Well, it’s just that Okura-dono has been worried about how things have been going for you. He was going to send someone over to check on you to make sure that you were settling in okay and that no one at the Onmi was giving you any trouble, so I volunteered.” She gave a little shrug, “You did say you were curious about _shitsuji_ , and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone.”

Ichigo shifted his weight slightly on his feet.  Well, this was unexpected.  On the one hand, dealing with anyone sent by Okura was a gamble, but on the other...

“Oh, that is very kind of you to offer!” He bowed again, this time a little lower and with a smile instead of his typical scowl. “As you can see, I’m fine, and everyone at the Onmi has respected my resignation, so Okura-san needn’t worry. But I really would like to ask you some questions about your training and experiences. Could we go somewhere?  Maybe talk over a cup of coffee?”

Maki gave him a slow smile— _ah yes…_ _Gotcha, look number 2.  Thank you, Yuzu!_ —and said, “Make it tea, and you’ve got a deal.”

Tea it was, then.

***

“Yes, and then Okura-dono tripped over the tray that I left and ended up on the floor.  I was so afraid that he was going to fire me.  I mean, that is exactly what a good _shitsuji_ is supposed to _prevent_ from happening.  You’re supposed to know what your master needs before _he_ knows.  Provide everything before their request can even be formed into words.”

Ichigo laughed at the image of Okura Kagetaka falling ass-over-teakettle but couldn’t help but notice that the stories being spun for him had been carefully crafted to make Okura a sympathetic character. Kisuke might play the buffoon at times, but he would never simply stumble over an inanimate object.  Actually, he’d managed to navigate Ichigo’s bedroom— _a room he’d never even seen_ —backwards, in the dark, and with Ichigo’s mouth all over him without bumping into a single piece of furniture or tripping over the books on the floor or the cords stretched from the wall to the bed where his tech was charging.  It was unlikely that Okura had that much less situational awareness; Kisuke would have taught him better than that.

Good thing no one expected Maki Hideko to be a reliable narrator in this story.

“So, do most people think of you as an assistant? A servant?  A member of the family?  You hear so many conflicting stories, it’s hard to know what’s realistic.”

Maki sipped her tea and looked thoughtful for a moment.

“They are all realistic in their way. You see, there are as many roles for _shitsuji_ as there are masters.  Every employer has a different set of needs and it is the duty of the _shitsuji_ to fill those needs.  I joined my first master when he was very young.  He had inherited a fortune and a position within his family’s company but was lacking in the administrative skills necessary to run a household.  For him I was everything from an administrative assistant to a proxy hostess, making sure that gatherings went smoothly, and guests were happy.  I left his employ when he married because his wife had a long-term family retainer who filled that place for _her_ , and she was more comfortable running things without my assistance.”

Ichigo could put two and two together.  The wife hadn’t wanted someone around who would make her look bad in comparison.  It was hard to blame her.  Maki Hideko would be hard to compete with.

“Then, I worked as an assistant to the _shitsuji_ of a family whose head was a member of the Diet.  One butler was not nearly enough to fulfill the needs of _that_ family, but when I was offered the opportunity to move on to assist one of his associates, I jumped at the chance to run a household on my own again. That’s how I ended up with Okura-dono.”

So, Okura was an associate to a member of the Diet.  That was a little heavier than Ichigo had expected, but honestly, politicians were politicians no matter how high on the food chain.  Okura had money and leverage, two things that politicians needed more than blood or oxygen.

“The hardest part about switching employers is where you have to completely reprogram your responses to things.  You might have a master who is a stickler about your being silent until you are spoken to.  It isn’t unusual, honestly—there are lots of masters who prefer to think of their _shitsuji_ simply as tools, efficient and always at hand, and they pay well for the privilege—but then your next station could require that you handle correspondence proactively, or handle telephone calls and invitations without running everything past your master first. It can be difficult to change gears like that.”

“I’m assuming that Okura Kagetaka isn’t one of the don’t-speak-until-spoken-to masters?” Ichigo asked.

Maki gripped her teacup tighter, and Ichigo noted that her fingernails were short and well-manicured, probably so they wouldn’t interfere with her work.  Or her fighting.

“No.  Okura-dono isn’t like that.  He is very…  progressive in his expectations. Not many women become _shitsuji_ , and I must admit that a few have very misguided notions of how we are to behave. It has been refreshing to have a master that respects my skills and allows me to take on new responsibilities.”

Ichigo had wondered about the whole female butler thing. The Butler Café fad sweeping through the city _had_ to affect people who wanted to be taken seriously in the role, especially women.

“He seemed like a very talented guy.” Ichigo tried to sound sincere but perplexed. “I still don’t understand why he’s so invested in this whole situation with me and the Onmi, but I’m not going to ignore kindness when I see it.”

Maki sat back in her chair a little and looked at him over her tea.  “A very wise decision, Kurosaki-san.  Kindness is a rarity in this world.”

Ichigo nodded.  “Still it almost always comes at a price.”

They sat like that in silence for a few moments before Maki set her cup on the table and turned her full attention on him.  Her eyes were dark and lovely and if Ichigo hadn’t recently developed a thing for gray eyes they might have made an impact.

“Kurosaki-san,” she said, gingerly stretching her fingers across the table’s surface towards him, never being forward enough to actually touch him, but the suggestion of it was clear.  “I know that Okuro-dono is very powerful and it must feel strange to have earned his consideration, but he wants you to trust him, to rely on him as a mentor, even.  He sees so much potential in you and feels very strongly that it is his responsibility to keep watch over you.  He has known Urahara Kisuke for more than a decade; knows how dangerous he can be.  Believe me, he will do whatever he can to keep you from Urahara’s clutches.”

 _Clutches?_   Ichigo had to smother a laugh and hide his face in his tea.  Hopefully he just looked overwhelmed by the attentions of a pretty girl.

She was really good at this, he admitted.  Nothing she said was untrue; Okura _would_ do whatever he could to keep Ichigo from Kisuke.  It was his motivation that was suspect.

“I don’t know what to say,” he dipped his head a little.  “I started out just trying to help a stranger, and now I’m in the middle of something that I wouldn’t even put in my novel it seems so farfetched.”

Maki shifted and suddenly her chair was a little closer.  “I’ve been wanting to ask—I hope it isn’t too forward of me—but how does someone who selflessly helps a stranger in a coffee shop have the connections that you do to the Yakuza?”

Ichigo thought about how he should explain. 

“I don’t, really,” he said, and could see the disbelief settle on her face. “I mean, they’re from the neighborhood, and I’ve known a lot of them since primary school.  The guy with me the other day?  His little brother and I were in the same class.”

“My dad was a cop, so I knew better than to run with them, and my mom…  well, she died because of a turf war when I was a kid.  Total case of wrong place/wrong time plus a healthy dose of it can’t happen to me. But, between those things I ended up being the guy the local gang wanted to recruit but couldn’t.  They tried to beat it out of me a couple of times, but I just learned how to fight back, and after a while…  well, it was almost like I’d earned enough respect that they let me be.”

“But Masuda…” Maki stopped the name short, clearly trying not to call attention to the fact that she knew his name when there was no reason for her to, “the man you were with the other day.  He called you boss.”

Ichigo let her play it off.  “Yeah, Masuda calls everyone boss, except his boss.  He calls Mamushi kumichō-dono.”

That seemed to satisfy her on some level. 

“I thought it was strange,” she started, and then started again.  “Okura-dono doesn’t approve of Yakuza, so it seemed a little odd…”

Ichigo smiled. “Why would a nice guy like him help out a bad guy like me?  Yeah…  not with the Yakuza.  I mean, I’ve had more than my fair share of dealings with them—you can’t ignore them—but your boss isn’t sullying his hands by helping me.”

Two pink spots appeared on Maki’s cheeks and Ichigo thought she might actually be embarrassed. “I didn’t mean anything like that, Kurosaki-san.  I apologize most humbly if it came across that way.”

Ichigo nodded. “I understand.  Believe me.  I know what I look like.  You should see how they react to me when I’m working in the wards at the hospital.  *gasp* That’s my doctor?  No!”

He held his hands up to his chest in a dramatic motion of denial, and a tiny smile quirked Maki’s lip.

“Surely not, Kurosaki-san.  I am convinced that you have the patients eating out of your hands.”

Ichigo sipped his tea and gave a mournful look.  “Oh, if only, Maki-san.  It would have made my decision to be a writer instead of a doctor much harder if that had been the case.”

“A writer,” she looked suitably doubtful, like every other person he’d ever told that to, “and how does that work?”

At this point he had no idea why they were still talking, but why not. 

“Well, when I was working at the Onmi it was easy.  I basically camped out in the corner of the room and wrote all day while other people did their stuff.  Before that I had to carve out whatever time I could between class and the hospital and family time.  I spent a lot of time in coffee shops, which is what got me into this mess in the first place.”

He thought back to that day and shook his head.  “Feels like forever ago.  Weird that it’s only been what?  A month and a half?”

“Seven weeks.” The words were out of her mouth so quickly she couldn’t stop them.  “Ah, that’s what Okura-dono…” she looked like she was trying not to swallow her tongue.

Ichigo nodded, “Yeah.  That’s about right.  Time flies.”

And if that didn’t make it clear that he’d been on Okura’s radar the whole time, he was a natural brunet.

Maki sat up even straighter and smiled, all seriousness banished and her almost-flirtatious edge back. “Hopefully, because you’re having fun.”

 _Well_ , Ichigo thought as he watched her change gears, _a little flirtation never hurt anyone,_ and returned the smile.

“Good company makes everything more fun.”

***

 _Good company, indeed,_ Kagetaka thought, as he adjusted the sound on the receiver a little.

He quickly skimmed through the notes he’d taken, pleased with the groundwork Maki’d laid.  He’d told her to take it slow because Kurosaki wasn’t as easily led as his father, but he was clearly not immune to the pretty girl’s charms.  She already had him talking about Kisuke’s work at the Onmi.

“Yeah,” the redhead was talking again, “he was always working on it, and talking to it.  He called it Yoruichi.  I guess he named it after a friend.  Maybe an old partner? I don’t know.”

Maki made a disapproving noise and Kagetaka could just imagine the delicate purse of her lips. “I don’t recognize the name, but it sounds like the program that was that was stolen from Okura-dono. The man has even less honor than I’ve been told.”

 _Yoruichi._ Kagetaka’s lips twisted in a smile. That had to be the activation code that he needed. It was so obvious… he should have guessed. Kisuke had an enormous soft spot for the woman—but now he knew, and it didn’t matter. With the code he’d be able to activate the main routine as soon as he’d pried it out of Kisuke’s servers. Even better, his last message from Kawasaki said that the Shihoin woman’s partner was being set on a path to intercept any trouble with Mamushi.  It was going to be a lovely irony to use her partner against her. He could sow a tale of domestic troubles that would muddy the waters even more when he finally made his move.

The microphone picked up a faint noise, maybe Kurosaki doing something with his cup, and Okura waited until he started talking again.

“This whole situation is so strange.” He sounded almost defeated. _Good_. “After I met your boss, I went straight to Urahara and asked if what I’d been told was true. I expected denials and explanations, but he didn’t deny it at all.  He admitted straight out that he destroyed a project Okura had been working on.  Said that it was too dangerous for a private business, and that Okura should know better. But if he didn’t destroy it.  If he kept it….”  Kurosaki’s voice drifted away and Kagetaka wished he had more than just audio on the scene.  It would be nice to be able to gauge the redhead’s reactions better.

“Too dangerous?  That’s ridiculous. Okura-dono’s projects are all for the good of the people.  He wants to keep them safe.”  Maki sounded so righteous when she was defending him.  He’d clearly chosen the right person for this job. “The only people who want to stop him are the ones who lurk in the shadows and are afraid of his light. The Yakuza is afraid of him because he will expose their secrets, and Urahara hates him because he couldn’t control him or make him into a carbon-copy killer.  You are lucky to have gotten away when you did, Kurosaki-san.  The man is a menace.”

Kurosaki sighed and shifted noisily again.  “And here I thought I’d gotten better at judging people.  Maybe that’s why I like writing better than reality.  With stories I can just make things work the way I want them to.”

Kagetaka smirked.  _He_ didn’t need to resort to fiction to have things the way he wanted them.  All he needed was time for the plans he’d put in motion would come to fruition, and Urahara Kisuke would be no more. 

He picked up the phone.

“Chiaki-san,” he spoke crisply, “let Director Kawasaki know that I’ve gotten the information that he requested.  He can visit me in my office whenever he’s available, the sooner the better.”

He glanced at the clock and texted Maki-san.  _Appointment scheduled.  Please adjust the calendar accordingly._

The mic crackled a little and Kagetaka heard the message notification on Maki’s phone ping.

“Oh, Kurosaki-kun,” she said, “this has been most enjoyable, but it seems my free time has come to an end.”

He could hear the shuffling as the two of them rose to their feet.

“No rest for the wicked, hmm?” Kurosaki teased and murmured something to their server.  “Thank you, then, for spending your valuable free time satisfying my curiosity.”

There was a minor scuffle as Kurosaki insisted on paying the bill, but Maki gave in with good grace.

 _Good girl_ , he thought.  _Keep him on the hook a little longer._   It would be wise to keep tabs on the young man, even if he was just a pawn in the game.

“It was my pleasure, Kurosaki-san,” she said. Her bow was almost silent, only the sound of her hands whispering along the material of her slacks giving it away.  “Perhaps you will be able to use some of the information I provided in your stories.”

That was greeted with a short laugh and Kagetaka could hear the warmth in Kurosaki’s tone as he responded. “If there wasn’t a place for it already, I would make one.  It will be very useful.  Thank you.”

Kagetaka turned off the receiver and nodded. _Very useful indeed_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read and commented. It means the world.


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